


This Deep, Heretical Truth

by RavenSinead



Series: Transient Eternity [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Duelling, F/F, Marriage Proposal, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:23:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 48
Words: 92,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenSinead/pseuds/RavenSinead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Landsmeet is approaching. A mad tyrant must be deposed, a king re-instated, and a country united in the face of a Blight. Every triumph requires a sacrifice, and in times of war, these sacrifices are made in blood. Can love prevail in the midst of political machinations, betrayal, and madness? Can life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Denerim

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to BioWare. I own nothing.

**Salem Cousland**

     _Denerim._

    The city gates screamed as they opened, allowing us entrance. The last time I had walked these streets, I had nearly lost my life to Marjolaine's knife. I could not restrain the slight shudder that rippled down my spine. 

      _I knew I would return here. When Leliana told me of her vision, she said it would all end here. I wonder...will this be the last time I stand in this city?_

     A reassuring hand slipped inside mine. 

     "Are you all right, love?" my bard's beautiful accent tickled my ear. 

     "I was merely thinking." I assured her. 

     While she did not speak of it often, I knew she still struggled with her incessant worry over me. That worry and my frustration with it had been the catalyst of many disagreements between us. In fact, it had nearly torn us apart. 

     "Thinking of what?" she pried, an impish smile on her lips. 

     "This city. What you said would happen here."

     Her eyes filled with shadows. "You always ponder such dark thoughts, my warden. It troubles me to see you so fatalistic."

     "Far from it." I lied, smiling for her comfort. 

     There would be bleak enough times ahead. I could not bring myself to dampen the light in her eyes. It had grown brighter and brighter since leaving Haven, journeying to Redcliffe, and from thence to Denerim. It lit my path in dark times, through shadowed thoughts such as those I now slogged through. 

     "Good." she rubbed my back and patted my shoulder. "We have at last returned to...well...I suppose this city would be Ferelden's sad excuse for civilization."

     I laughed at her jest, knowing it was not meant in earnest. Leliana was Ferelden by blood and birth. She would not disown the country of her origin, not after it had given her safe harbor. 

     Arl Eamon walked back, from the front of the caravan, to us, concern furrowing his brow. 

     "Songstress," he nodded to Leliana and turned to me. "Warden. Our arrival will have caused quite a stir. I am certain that Loghain already knows of our being here. In the interest of safety, we should go directly to my estate. You have acquired some...colorful...companions, Teyrna Cousland. However unintentional, they draw attention."

     "Please, Arl Eamon, call me Salem." I told him. "It would do precious little for your reputation if you were overheard calling a deposed noble whose rights and title have been stripped from them  _by_ the aforementioned title."

     Eamon shook his head and his beard shifted in the breeze. " _That_ was a matter of treachery I shall lay bare in the Landsmeet." he promised. "Cousland has been one of Ferelden's noble houses long before we rebelled against Orlais. Your loyalty to king and country has never wavered."

     "Not to hear Loghain tell it." I scoffed. "And who will the people believe, Eamon? The controversial Grey Warden child of a dead house, or the hero of the war with Orlais?"

     Eamon frowned behind his moustache. "There are weak points in every armor, teyrna. We must simply find Loghain's weaknesses and exploit them. Preferably before the Landsmeet is called. However, we must thoroughly ensconce ourselves in the city before either of those goals may be accomplished."

     "As you say." I agreed, watching him return to his wagons and his wife. 

     We had sped to Redcliffe from the village of Haven, pushing the limits of our endurance to get Andraste's Ashes to the arl in time. For the first time in what seemed an eternity, luck traveled with us. The Ashes had worked immediately, leading to Arl Eamon returning to us hearty and whole, and a grateful arlessa who had collapsed in my arms, weeping with joy and exhaustion. The woman had even kissed Alistair on the cheek. 

     I smiled at the memory. Alistair had confided to me that Isolde  _hated_ him. She was the reason he had been forced from Arl Eamon's guardianship and into the life of a templar. A life he had never wanted, and left for the wardens. 

      _I am grateful,_ I smiled at him, but he did not return the gesture. Alistair wanted to be here less than I did. He knew that, if we were successful in the Landsmeet, he would soon wear the crown of an unstable country.  _It is perhaps a greater burden than facing the archdemon. Forgive me, Alistair. This is not what either of us had anticipated, or desired...it is simply the path Fate has thrust upon us._

     "You are thinking in dark places again." Leliana chided as we fell in step behind Eamon's caravan. 

     I shook my head, almost ill-at-ease with how well the bard could sense my thoughts. She was becoming as adept as Burrow in sensing my emotions, states of mind, and well-being. I felt the lack of the mabari beside me, but I had chosen to cage him in one of Eamon's wagons, much to his unhappiness and my own. In spite of our feelings on the matter, precautions did need to be taken. Loghain had many spies, supporters, and sympathizers, eyes and ears everywhere. Mabari were rare and easily recognized. 

     "I am simply pitying Alistair." I told her, watching her nod in commiseration. 

     "Neither of you will walk an easy path." she acknowledged. "It is good that he has you to lean on."

     "At the end of this road, I am certain he will hate me." I shared my fears with her. "If he does not already."

     "The possibility of that happening is the same chance we have of seeing Andraste walk among us again." Leliana said, cheeky. She sobered and, in a rare moment, met my eyes. "He loves you, Salem."

      _What knowledge do you possess that I do not?_ I wondered.  _Did you not hear him last night, cursing my name, blaming me for drawing the truth of his lineage from him? We nearly came to blows...and things between us are still in disrepair._

     I knew in my heart that Alistair would be a good king. While I would not choose him as a leader of soldiers, I  _would_ choose him as a leader of men. However, for a man who had always been in the company of warriors, and failed in leading them...he could not see to the same end as I. I pinched the bridge of my nose, thoughts racing through my head in a painful threnody.

     "No more of that, my warden." Leliana elbowed me in the side, gentle. 

     I looked at her, incredulous. "And what has you in such fine spirits, dear heart?"

     "Civilization!" her smile broadened, unquenchable in its brightness. "The sounds of the city, the thrill of intrigue...the promise of a hot bath and  _soap!"_

    I laughed yet again, giving into her infectious mirth. 

    "A hot bath you say?" I asked. "Would you be wishing to partake of such luxuries alone or..."

    She rasied an eyebrow. "I would not be averse to company, my warden, if you should happen to know of those who would provide it."

     "I hear The Pearl..."

     "Wench!" she shoved at me, playful, laughing like a young woman with no cares on her mind...who did not love a warden doomed to death. 

      _Maker you are lovely,_ I watched her laughing, glorying in its music.  _And we are in your element. Who better to fell a pretender to the throne than a woman who has toppled kings and made countries run amuck? Do you know, dear heart, that I wake every morning with a prayer of thanks on my lips? Will I ever be able to convey...with my weak words and beyond the burdens on my soul...how much I love you?_

     Arl Eamon's servants opened the portcullis leading to the estate. The caravan moved inside the grounds. I followed, quickly making it to the front of the procession. Leliana followed, concerned. 

     "Is everything all right?" she asked, resting a hand on my shoulder. 

     The doors of the estate opened and my eyes flared. 

     "No." I answered. "It most certainly is not."


	2. The Black of Her Past

**Leliana**

    Salem's body went rigid as a group of people approached us. A man in silver armor, obviously their leader, was surrounded by armed guards. He had his onyx hair tied back and his eyes shone out, as filled with madness as Salem's were with death. His carriage was proud, a stance of command and nobility, a stature that my lover herself possessed, though never did she use it to cower another. Not like this man.

     Arl Eamon scrambled down from his wagon and walked to meet them. Salem squeezed my hand, a silent command for me to stay behind. I complied, insomuch as I did not join her, but I edged close enough to hear the conversation, determined to know what had made Salem look like a woman on the edge of sanity. Anger did not easily come to my warden, nor often present itself in her body, but I could see her shivering with suppressed rage.

     I admired Salem as she strode forward, her soot-black armor gleaming. After hearing the story of what had transpired in the Frostbacks, Levi Dryden had gifted Salem with his ancestor's armor. My warden had refused out of honor, but the young man persisted, saying it was the least he could offer for the favors she had done him.

      _It suits her._ I mused.  _Though it gives her a rank she does not possess...as of yet. Warden Commander Cousland,_ I smiled at the thought of it. 

     "Eamon." the man in silver armor spoke, his voice deep and resonant. "I see you have decided to persist in your madness."

     Arl Eamon frowned behind his beard. "No more than you, _Teyrn_ Loghain."

      _Loghain!_

     My mind fired with alarm. This was the man who had placed a bounty on the wardens. This was the man...I glanced back at Zevran. The elf had tied a scarf around his hair, concealing his ears. He shrank back behind the wagon. He knew Loghain, the man who had hired him. He also knew that the man would stop at nothing to gain retribution, should he find out that his hired assassin had joined my warden's cause.

     "Let us not mince with pleasantries or titles, Eamon." Loghain spoke, and I noticed the snake of a man behind him staring daggers into Salem. "I have come to attempt a peaceful resolution before you bring yourself to public shame before the bannorn."

     "There can be no peace with what you have done, Loghain." Eamon rebutted, still collected and calm. "The bannorn _will_ assemble. The Landsmeet  _will_ be called."

     "And what?" Loghain smirked. "You will set before them baseless accusations? It will descend into a flurry of name-calling and ancient grievances, sending this country home more severed than it is now."

       _Why hasn't she spoken?_ I looked at Salem, her eyes cast down, her shoulders bunched. This was not the woman I had come to know and love.  _I know she holds no fear of Loghain. Why then, is she remaining silent?_

     "This country would not be in its fractured state if King Cailan were alive to tend to its needs." Eamon claimed. 

     Loghain's eyes lit with fury. "Our king, and your nephew, would still be alive if it weren't for  _that_." he pointed to Salem with an imperious hand. 

     My warden flinched and I curled my hands into fists, restraining myself from rushing to her defense. Instead, I examined the guards standing around Loghain, biting my tongue and imagining horrible, torturous deaths for all of them. 

     "Do you wish me to remove my clothes, Teyrn Loghain?" Salem asked, breaking her silence at last. 

      _What in hell?_

     "Whatever for?" Loghain sneered. "I can do far better than a baseborn Cousland whore." 

     The snake behind Loghain snickered. 

      ** _That_** _manner of insult I **will not** countenance!_  I strode forward and felt a hand of steel land on my shoulder. Furious, I looked into the stern face of the qunari. 

     "Do not make this worse." he rumbled. 

     My face fell and my shoulders slumped.  _He is right,_ I realized.  _Thus far this has been a civil argument. If any of us step in, Loghain will have full right to attack. We cannot risk that, not now. Not if we are attempting to **gain** favor._  

     Salem laughed, though it was obviously forced. 

     "And I could do better than a self-aggrandizing Mac Tir." Salem countered, heat in her voice, but a calm fire. "I merely meant to inquire if you should like to see the scars from the wounds I received at the Tower of Ishal.  _After_  I lit the beacon."

     "And who would believe you?" Loghain queried, voice oily with false kindness. "Any scars you would show me are like as not remnants of failed attempts to take your own life after your father was found guilty of treason and had to be put down like the dog he is...oh, do forgive me.  _Was_."

     Salem's lips went white with fury. "Call me a liar, if that is your wish. Call me a baseborn whore." her voice was tight, controlled, straining at civility. "But  _do not_ decry the Cousland name in my presence."

     "The Cousland name." the man behind Loghain spoke at last. Even his voice reminded me of a serpent. It was...evil...venemous. "It is worth less than the dirt in Highever."

     Salem curled her hands into fists, an action that did not go unnoticed. "I apologize that you inherited a territory in such disarray." the muscles in her jaw clenched. "Arl Howe."

      _Maker's breath_ , my hand flew to my open mouth. Answers to all the questions I had asked tumbled into place.  _She is helpless to act and she is standing before...before the man that ordered her family slaughtered. A man who had no scruples abour killing a six year old child. It is taking all of her strength to **not** lash out._  

     "It's Teyrn Howe now." he smiled, thin-lipped, slick, and greasy. "As a reward for rooting out deep treachery, and bringing its perpetrators to justice, Regent Loghain was kind enough to accord me the rank due my actions, as well as the territory of Highever. My banner flies over House Cousland as we speak."

     "You miserable, misbegotten son of dogs." Salem growled, nearing the precipice of losing her composure and mind. "And you," she turned to Loghain, "Cailan was alive and  _still_ king when Highever was sacked. You had no right under Ferelden law to give those lands to him."

     "The decision was made after Cailan's unfortunate demise." Loghain tried to sound sympathetic, mournful, but he failed. His black eyes danced with what looked like merriment. 

      _Of course he is happy. Playing with lives and families and emotions...anything to weaken this country's infrastructure and set him up to take power. He tires of his glory paling in the face of a Blight. So he does what any narcissist would do, and claims the Blight does not exist. The instant he is in a position of power, he will acknowledge the Blight and attempt to end it, to earn his country's love and loyalty. It is a brilliant strategy, Loghain._

     "Of course it was." Salem pinched the bridge of her nose. "Cousland's last child has no say in this matter, I suppose."

     "You were overburdened already." Howe offered her a paternal smile. "Finding out your family's sordid history, being thrust into a darker fate. We did not wish to burden you yet further."

     "I killed scores of your men that night, Rendon Howe. You are a far softer target." Salem stepped forward and I did not know what to do. Rush to her aid, or pull her away. She would thank me for neither. 

     "Get off of my land, Loghain." Eamon warned. "You and your ilk are not welcome here."

     "Is that a threat?" Loghain asked. "Tell me, what am I to fear? An old man with one foot in the grave? Or a slip of a girl, who drank a magic potion, met a bastard liar, and thinks herself a hero? Treason runs in the blood, Eamon." He gestured to Salem. "You are not at all safe with this one."

     "If treachery runs in bloodlines, I would rather have the young Cousland at my side than even your Anora, Loghain." Eamon retorted. "Now get  _off of my land_."

     "As you wish." Loghain smiled and Eamon stepped aside, Salem following the arl. 

     The self-appointed regent moved past the caravan and out through the portcullis. Rendon Howe stayed behind. He laid a hand on Salem's shoulder and her eyes flashed with murder. 

     "I am so sorry for your losses." Howe claimed, sounding every inch the consoling noble. "But, please, for the sake of your family, warn Eamon against the Landsmeet. It would be too cruel to dishonor Bryce and Eleanor Cousland in a public forum."

     " _Get. Your. Hands. Off of me._ " Salem spoke in the voice that many of us had learned to fear. It was the tone of a scarcely sheathed blade, a fiercely contained wrath. 

     "Keep care, warden." he patted her shoulder and walked away, unharmed, unscathed, and unassailable.

     I walked to Salem, watching blood drip down her chin. She had bitten deep into her lip to maintain her silence. 

      _Maker, why this, why now?_ I begged for understanding. _She was smiling. She was **laughing**. We were...happy._  

     "Salem..." I spoke. 

     She raised her gaze to mine. "Not now, Leliana." her eyes swarmed with rage, anguish, and murderous intent. 

     I lifted my hands in surrender and backed away, into Wynne's disconcerted gaze. We watched Salem walk into the estate with Arl Eamon. 

     "I am familiar with Loghain's face." Wynne spoke, turning my attention from Salem's slumped, defeated figure. "But I did not hear anything. "What happened, Leliana?"

     I met the senior enchanter's eyes and let her see the full depth of my concern. 

     "What was said is unimportant." I wiped a stray tear from my eye as I thought of Salem's inner turmoil and grief. "Loghain was accompanied by Rendon Howe."

     "Maker have mercy." Wynne wrapped her arm around me and rubbed a comforting hand up and down my arm. 

     "She would not speak to me." I whispered. "I'm...I am afraid, Wynne."

     "You fear what reckless action she will take against Howe?"

     "No."  _Salem would not endanger the Landsmeet._ "I fear what reckless action she will take against herself."


	3. Of Wrath and Anguish

**Salem**

     _He touched me! That **bastard** had the gall to lay his hands on my body, knowing full well that I could do  **nothing** against him! He manipulated the situation,  **just** as he manipulated my father into trusting him! Damn it all to the Black_   _City!_

     My hands itched for the blades I did not carry, my body yearned to rush after the departing soldiers and put our two greatest enemies to the sword. But no. Unlike them, I knew and  _respected_ Ferelden law. I knew Arl Eamon had done the only thing that would re-unite our country. The Landsmeet. I had to believe that the system we had fought so hard to put in place could be used to aid our cause. I had to keep my calm, no matter how my fury raged. 

      _I will see you **ended** , Howe! _I made the vow and clenched my fists.  _Hide behind Loghain's power and influence while you can. I will reserve my wrath for shadows, and your end for ignominy. My vengeance will spread to your children, and your children's children. You slaughtered my family and stole my heritage. I will see your houses burned, your land strewn with salt, and all of your prosperity brought low._ _  
_

"Teyrna Cousland." Arl Eamon's sagacious voice ripped me from my vengeful thoughts and I flinched, forgetting that we had entered his estate together.

     "Forgive me." I apologized. "I am not quite myself."

     "Nor would I be, had I been visited with such a situation." Eamon offered a kind smile. "In truth, I did not expect him to sally forth so quickly. Loghain is a coward, but such cowardice led to tactics that brought us to victory against Orlais."

     "And he supplied such tactics to his favored butchers." I spat. "Please...please excuse me, Arl Eamon. Might I ask to be left alone with my thoughts?"

     "Any of the upstairs rooms are yours for the taking." Eamon directed me to a staircase. "We could all use some rest. Please, take all the time you need. But, if I may, Salem, I would like to leave you with a thought of my own."

     "Yes?"

     The man set his hand on my shoulder and pulled my eyes to his, un-flinching. "Bryce would be  _proud_ of you child."

     My lips trembled as I fought down tears. "Thank you."

     "I will settle Isolde and your companions." he bid me farewell. "Seek me out when you are ready to discuss our strategy."

     "As you say."

     The moment he turned his back, I fled, staggering up the stairs as tears blinded me. I found a secluded room and closed the door behind me. I tore my armor off of my body and cast it to the ground, angry at the false sense of protection. It might shield me from blades and arrows, but nothing could shield me from the face, sneer, and lies of Rendon Howe. 

      _I want no part of this. I am **sick** of holding my temper and chaining down my tongue. I am at  **my end** with armor and blades that provide no protection for the heart. I did nothing. I did  **nothing!** I stood before my family's murderer and...I failed them. I know Eamon meant well but my father will know no rest until Oren and my mother and brother are avenged. Then, and only  **then** , will he take pride in the fact that I share his blood. _

My stomach turned and I forced down the bile that rose in my throat. I stood in front of a full length mirror. 

     "I am no better." I looked into the glass, staring at the death in my eyes. "I have killed hundreds...perhaps even a thousand." I walked closer to the mirror, hating every line on my face, every pre-mature silver strand in my hair, the stream of blood on my chin...the damn scar on my cheek. "And not just darkspawn."  _I am surely going mad._ "Men, women... _children_."

     I stared at my reflection, remembering Haven... _sick sound as the sword enters the body...the blow seems lower than it should...panicked gasping as the tiny body crumples to the ground...he's crying...in pain...asking for his mother...too young to understand...I **murdered**_ _him!_

"How easy it would be." I whispered, reaching out, touching the glass-sheen of the mirror. It cooled my skin, but could do nothing to ease the heat behind my eyes. "So very, very simple."

      _I tried it once; almost succeeded. I am alone here, no one near enough or aware enough to stop me. Alistair has Eamon's support now. He...he has grown, since the beginning. He will be able to face this on his own. They have no need of me any longer. I could go...home._

     Almost unaware of the movement, I drew the knife at my belt. I tested the razor edge with my thumb, satisfied by the metallic ring. I looked up; faced my mirror-self, saw her cradling the knife I had used in the protection of others, in defense of my country and my love. 

 _Why?_ I asked myself.  _Why does it come to this? I...I cannot understand. Never have I been this...this fatalist who stares into what the future holds and_   _ **cowers**_ _._

 "You," I extended the knife and spoke to the image in the glass, "you are better than this. Death is not peace. It is not strength. You have...so...so much to live for."

      _But my eyes are filled with ghosts. The souls of those I have slaughtered linger, haunting me, whispering to self and others of what I have done, of who I am. Ignoble, baseborn, the one who carries the sins of ancients on her shoulders. In truth, what manner of future do I face?_

     I lowered my hand and examined the knife once more. "Father, I wish you were here." Tears sprang to my eyes again. "I need a steadying hand. Please, Maker, please...take this from me."

      _Salem,_ a memory spoke to me, a memory of my mother's voice,  _let nothing be taken from you. If all you have is the ground beneath your feet, **fight for it.** Keep everything near, your joys, your sorrows, your strengths, your weaknesses. Keep every part of your Self and no enemy can dream of bringing you low. _

     "Every part." I nodded to the woman in the mirror, a woman changed since that night in Highever when my mother had spoken those words. "Even my failures."

     With a smile, I remembered my words to the Guardian of the Ashes. I said them again, though I had less ground beneath my feet, less surety in my future than a dayfly. 

     "I am not yet gone."

     I let the knife clatter to the stone floor. I would not lift it against myself again. But the rage in my soul did not cease. The wrath choking my heart demanded release. I clenched my fist and struck the mirror, listening to it crack. I struck it again and shards of glass fell to the floor, making their own, grim music. A third strike and pieces of glass embedded themselves in my hand. I pulled my fist back, breathing heavy, the pain dragging me into the present, dampening my anger. 

     I pulled the glass from my skin, throwing it to the floor and looking at my scattered reflection in the slivers of mirror. I had defeated temptation. I had remained true to myself. But I had still failed to avenge my family when their killer stood before me. 

     I let the blood stream from my hand, fell to my knees, lay down amid the field of broken glass. I curled into myself and, accepting my weaknesses, wept like a child. 


	4. Dread, Despair, and Devotion

**Leliana**

     _This is testing the very limits of my patience,_ I fumed, helpless to do anything. 

     Arl Eamon led us through the levels of his estate, allocating rooms for each of us, instructing various servants to attend to our needs. I shared a worried glance with Wynne as the arl launched into a lengthy explanation regarding the location of the kitchens and laundry. Salem was conspicuously missing. 

      _Where **is** she?_  I wondered, peering around corners and into hallways as Eamon guided us.  _Her frame of mind...I cannot imagine the chaos flooding her at this moment. And where am I? Where am I when she most needs me? I am trapped, listening to this man ramble endlessly...calm, Leliana. The arl is being quite kind, securing us in his estate. Were we to be anywhere else, Loghain would surely seek us out and have us murdered as we slept._

     I shifted my weight and crossed my arms.  _When will this interminable tour be over?_

     Alistair glanced at all assembled and a quizzical expression crossed his face. He looked at me, raising his eyebrows in query. I shrugged my shoulders. 

      _Apparently, none of us know where she has gone._

     "And with that said," Eamon droned, "please feel free to avail yourselves of all the amenities provided. I myself will withdraw for the evening and get myself and Isolde settled in. I would advise, however, that should any of you brave the city of Denerim, you do not go alone."

     "Of course." Alistair nodded. 

     Eamon departed and Alistair crossed to me, hurried. "Where is she?" he asked. 

     "I do not know." I answered as Wynne joined us. 

     "I am certain Salem is well." the senior enchanter spoke words of calm even as worry sparked in her gaze. "She would do nothing to endanger the Landsmeet."

      _None of them know,_ I dug my nails into my crossed arms.  _None of them know what happened in the Temple of the Ashes. They are unaware of how close...how close she came to abandoning us all. I know it is wrong of me to lack faith in her, to believe that she might near that edge once more, and yet...she has been pushed so far._

     "I am going to find her."

     There had been enough pointless talk already. One of us needed to take action. I turned away from the others and walked up the stairs. 

_Salem seeks out high places when troubled. While I do not know why, it is a habit I have noticed. Most would gravitate to a dark, hidden sanctuary. I know that is my preference...but not hers._

     Another empty room greeted me as I opened the door. 

     "Damn it, Salem." I hissed. "Where are you?"

     I walked to the next door and eased it open, praying.  _Let her be safe, please, Dear Maker, let her be safe._

     Holding my breath, I entered, taking in the scene before me. Salem lay on the floor, curled into herself. A shattered mirror stood in front of her, shards of glass strewn all about my lover's body. Her knife lay on the ground, and I saw a dark pool of red on the stones. 

 _**No!**_ a wordless scream echoed through my mind.  _No no no no no no! This isn't happening; **can't** be_ _happening!_

Hesitant, hurting, I moved closer, kneeling down beside her still body, looking for a wound, the movement of her chest...anything. I touched her bloody hand, recoiling from the frigidity of her skin. My breath shuddered out and I closed my eyes, unwilling to face this.

     "Salem," my voice cracked, " _why_?"

     "Leliana?"

     My eyes snapped open, looking into Salem's confused silver-blue. I pulled her into my arms, pressing my lips to hers, releasing all of my fear in a rush of relief and love. 

     "Maker's blood," I pressed my forehead to hers and ran my hand through her hair, still clinging to her, to assure myself that she was real, "you're freezing."

     "Leliana, are you all right?" she asked, pulling out of the embrace. 

     I could see the lines of tears on her cheeks, the dark bruises underneath her eyes. Exhaustion had overtaken her. I took her hand in mine, seeing the small, but deep, cuts from the glass. I frowned, looking around the room, seeing a washbasin with a pitcher nearby on the table near the window. I rose, pulling Salem with me. 

     The pitcher was filled with water and I took one of the towels laid on the table, placed there by servants in anticipation of our arrival, and soaked it, beginning to clean the blood from Salem's hands and look for minute flecks of glass. 

     "Leliana?" Salem asked. 

     "You...I...I came in and you were on the floor. I saw the knife and the blood and your hand was so cold and..." I inhaled, deep, trying to control the words that  tangled and tripped over each other. My hands began to shake. 

      _You alone,_ I thought, fond,  _you alone render me this tongue-tied, babbling idiot._

     "And you thought I had taken my life." her voice remained steady, though rough with the remnants of her tears. 

     "Salem, forgive me." I apologized, pleased as I saw that the wounds on her hand had already clotted, and would not need bandaging. "I know I should not even allow such thoughts to cross my mind."

     "No." she shook her head and pulled her hand from mine. Her eyes were downcast, but not in deference to me. In...shame. "You were correct. I was tempted; I...I very nearly..." she sighed, "...you must think me pathetic."

      _Oh, my love. No. There is no shame in this. I never told you, my warden. I never told you of the night when I woke in the Chantry after escaping the dungeons of Val Royeaux. I was in so much pain, so betrayed, transfixed by the wreck of my once flawless body, stained and tainted by the Orlesian guards. I, too, have felt the kiss of a blade against my breast. I have longed for the warm embrace of eternity._

     "No, Salem." I assured her, taking her in my arms once more. "No. You were caught in a cruel trap, and it is a miracle enough that you kept your head. I...I would have torn them apart. I am not so strong a person as you, my love."

     Salem scoffed in self-derision. "Fear is not a strength. I...I saw him and I froze, Leliana. I gazed into Howe's eyes and I faltered. I lost everything: every courage I have gained, every miracle I have witnessed, and every bond I have forged. I became the girl in Highever who stared at her nephew's open throat, who watched her father bleed out, who saw her mother slaughtered."

     Fresh tears gathered in her eyes and spilled down her cheecks. I wiped them away, sharing her sorrow. 

      _I remember when you did not know what it was to weep. I am glad to see your grief returned to you. Though unpleasant, maddening, grief makes us whole._

     "They sought to break you and they failed." I consoled her. She remained silent. "Salem?"

     "They did break me." she whispered. 

     I gathered her to me, closer, tighter, praying that she could feel the love I had for her. 

     "You are stronger than them." I pressed. "You have not yet lost your weakness; you remain grounded in your humanity. To lose that, as they have...that is beyond you."

     "I am a killer, Leliana." Salem refused to listen. "You have witnessed this."

     "And I witnessed you tearing yourself apart after every battle, forcing yourself to bury the dead and remember them. You have killed, Salem. It does not make you a killer. Strange though it may seem, there is a clear distinction between them."

     Salem extricated herself from my embrace, pulling away, concealing her heart. "You are too good to me."

     She began pacing the room, her boots cracking the glass of the mirror beneath them yet further. I lifted her knife from the ground, seeing its un-bloodied edge, thanking the Maker that she had not used it against herself. 

     "Salem, please," I entreated, trying to calm her. "You are obviously troubled. Speak with me. You are not alone in this."

     She stopped pacing and pinched the bridge of her nose. "No, I am not. And I nearly cast that away. How unforgivably selfish is that action, Leliana? It...it was different, the first time. You were gone...I thought...the others...they..."

      _Stop this. Stop torturing yourself, my love. What you have endured is enough. Must you hammer at your soul with self-created shortcomings?_

     I sat down on the edge of the bed. "Salem," my voice became stern, "sit."

     With a sigh, she crossed to me and sat down, refusing to look at me. 

     "Salem."

     "What?" she asked, bitterness washing over her. 

     "Look at me." 

     She turned her face to mine, keeping her eyes averted. "Yes?"

     " _Look_ at me." I stressed. Her eyes locked with mine, daring me to flinch, to fear her, to name her what she thought she was—a killer. "There is something I must tell you, my warden. Listen."


	5. The Pain of Her Past

**Salem**

     _She is not looking away,_ I thought. I waited for the prolonged blink, or the lowering of her eyes that said she had endured enough of staring at death. It did not come. 

     "I'm listening." I told her. 

     Leliana visibly gathered her composure, squaring her shoulders and breathing deep.

     "I spent two weeks in the dungeons of Val Royeaux." she spoke at last. "They beat me with whips and poured molten metal into the wounds. They caned the soles of my feet, tore my fingernails off, put my body on the rack. I was starved, given only scraps of rotted food and enough dirty water to survive. And when it became obvious that those tactics were not working, the guards...used me...in as many depraved ways as they could fathom."

     "Leliana." I rested a hand on her thigh.  _You do not need to go back to these memories; I love you and accept you as you are._ "It is all right. I understand."

     She answered with a soft smile. "I do not think you do, my warden."

     "As you say."

     She re-oriented herself and reached out, taking my hand in her own. "As I have told you, I was aided in my escape by a revered mother of the Chantry. It was her scheme that saw those fatal documents put in Marjolaine's possession...but that is not the purpose of this tale."

     I could see the nightmares entering her eyes, horrors spawned from the two weeks she had been immersed in hell. 

      _Why?_ I wondered.  _She speaks so very little of this. I know that it pains her to delve into her past, even the moments of joy that lay therein._

     "When I woke," she continued, "I was in an unfamiliar place, disoriented...in unimaginable, terrible pain. Even so, I managed to stagger to my feet. My skin had been cleaned from the filth of the dungeon and the scent of elfroot was thick in the air. All memories of my escape seemed like a dream, so I waited by the door for torturers who did not come. I waited until what little strength I had left me and I collapsed."

     Her breath shuddered out and I sat closer to her, wrapping my arm around her body. She rested her head on my shoulder. 

     "It was then that I saw a mirror in the room." I felt her tears soak into my clothing. "And the face that looked back at me was not mine. My eyes were blackened, my skin bruised, swollen, torn, and cracked. I did not even recognize the color of my eyes, or who I saw in them. They were frightened, feral. Memories began to return in a terrifying flood."

      _Maker's breath...you woke alone, with no one there, either to comfort or to slay you. Why did you never tell me this before, dear heart? I can see the pain in your eyes...you are hurting. Why are you telling me now?_

     "I crawled to the mirror and began tearing off the bandages that covered me, breaking open some of the wounds as I did. I revealed, piece by piece, the extent of what had been done to me. In the dungeon, I thought of other things until my mind had gone completely numb. I had built a dream world away from the nightmare, focusing on lives that could have been. All of that, the self-imagined reality I built to protect myself, fell apart as I looked at my broken, bleeding body."

      _I know, my love._ I pulled her tighter against me.  _I have seen what was done to you, and I wish every day that somehow, I could have been there to undo it. I know it is a foolish thought to harbor, but that does not sway me. I would give anything of myself to grant you the life that you deserve._

     "I know...I know how petty this will sound, and I pray you do not think less of me for it." Leliana looked into my eyes again, pleading with gaze and words. "But...my body...it was, upon a time, flawless. My mind was disregarded, my thoughts inconsequential. Even to those who...who claimed to love me...my body was all that they saw. All that they truly loved. For the doors it could open, the tongues it could loose, the secrets it could unlock. And I froze, looking at the ruin that had been made of the sole thing that I considered my worth."

     "I could never think less of you, dear heart." I swore, pressing my lips to her forehead as testament. 

      _I can only harbor hatred for those who convinced you that you were worth so little._

     "It..." her voice caught, "...it well and truly broke me." she admitted. "My belongings had been laid neatly beside the bed, nothing out of place. Even the knife that the Chantry mother had slipped to me remained untouched."

      _This is going nowhere pleasant..._

     "I took the knife in my hand, looked into the mirror once more, and bade everything that I had been farewell. I placed the blade beneath my breast and wished for nothing but death. For all I knew, I now was worthless. I would never know another's admiration, never experience another's touch without judgment. My life had been stolen from me, and so I decided that I should take it back, as best I knew. I forced the knife into my skin, trying to pierce my heart."

      _Maker's breath, why? You...you...everything you are is beauty and strength. How could another fool's beliefs bring you so low?_

     My body trembled with wrath against the ones who had marked my love in this way. I wished to speak, to say something that would alleviate her sorrow. 

     "What happened?" I asked. 

      _I have seen the scar beneath her heart, nearly the same as the one from the wound she dealt me when saving my life. I had assumed that it was due to her torture...I had no comprehension of this._

     "I did not have the physical strength." she confessed. "Either to push the knife through or to remain on my knees. I became faint, fell over, and as I sprawled on the floor, Mother Dorothea entered. She staunched the bleeding, saved my life, and put me on the path I followed until I met you. It was she who encouraged me to return to Ferelden." Leliana sat up straighter, brushing tears from her eyes and running her hand through her hair. "I do not tell you this to cause you grief or bring you to anger. I tell you this so that you understand. I have stood where you stand, my love, and you are far stronger than I. That blade never entered your skin."

     "Not for want of trying." I whispered, reaching out, tracing the structure of her face with my hand, lost in the feel of her skin against mine. "Thank you, Leliana. For sharing this with me, giving me this gift. I...I can never convey...how much...how much I love you."

     "Before you entered my life," Leliana smiled, granting me the greatest gift a bard could, a happy ending, "I had not known a lover's touch since Marjolaine's. I feared being seen, being touched. When I realized the gravity of what I felt for you, I was so afraid. The lies of others were still foremost in my thoughts. Phantom voices decried me, reviling my scars, my brokenness, the wasteland of my body."

     "This, I recall."  _Her trembling voice as she at last told me the truth of her life before the Chantry, the apologies she made, the turning of her face from mine as she hid from my eyes and begged my acceptance._ "Please tell me you no longer harbor those fears."

     "They still linger." she whispered, brutal in her honesty, even though she knew it would break my heart. "I...I cannot kill the ghosts of the past, Salem. Some days I still wonder how you can feel for me as you do. There are moments I doubt your caress, question your kiss, stare into a mirror and  _loathe_ all that I am."

     I knelt down on the floor, placing my hands on her thighs, looking up at her and watching fresh tears fall. 

     "I love you." I breathed, tearing truth from my heart and imparting it to her. "Everything that you are. I wake every morning with your name on my lips. My last sweet memory before slumber is your voice in my ears. I tremble at the beauty of your touch and long every moment for you in my arms. I wish...wish for words that are adequate in their power and meaning to tell you..."

     Her hands framed my face and drew me towards her. Her lips pressed to mine, a kiss of desperation and quiet, devastating truths. 

     "Show me." she whispered as her teeth grazed my ear. "Salem, please, show me."

     Slow, gentle, I removed her clothes, trailing fingers and lips over her scars, worshipping her body, erasing the lies she had been told, destroying what insecurities remained, silencing the ghosts that danced behind her eyes. 

      _You tore the armor from your soul in hopes to give me strength. You confided to me the moment when you indulged your greatest darkness. My words are so grossly inadequate, my love. Let my hands speak in their place._


	6. The Traps that are Laid

**Leliana**

   I woke to moonlight streaming through the window. I reached across the bed, seeking Salem's warmth. All I found were cold sheets and an empty pillow.

     "Salem?" I asked the empty room.

     When no response came, I rose and threw on my clothes, savoring the pleasant ache between my thighs. I smiled. I had begged her to show me. I had prayed to my lover for a foundation in a swirling sea of my emotions. Salem had answered with passionate silence, desire, and longing. 

      _How does she do this? How can she weave my insecurities into a taspestry of futures and assurances? I have never known what it is to be loved._ I pressed my hand to the scar beneath my heart.  _I have never known...until now._

     I stole down the hallway and stairs, my bare feet making no noise. I heard raised voices from the direction of Arl Eamon's study. I could not make out the words, but I knew the voices all too well. Alistair and Salem. 

      _Maker's breath, are their teeth still locked over the Landsmeet and the part Alistair is to play in it?_

     As I moved closer, I began to make out words. 

     "Have you lost your mind!?" Alistair spoke, raising his voice in a manner I had never before witnessed. "You would think to march directly into the dragon's maw! They  _know_ we are here! This. Is. A. Trap!"

     I slipped into the study, wrapping the shadows about me like a cloak. Watching. Caluculating. Re-sharpening my skills. 

     "We cannot know that." Salem argued, maintaining her calm. "If there is even the slightest chance..."

     "Like the Ashes, Salem?" Alistair interrupted. "We all know how  _beautifully **that**_ situation managed itself! Why would you even  _think_ to trust this!?" **  
**

"Because I cannot afford to ignore it." she answered.

     "Just like you could not  _afford_ to ignore my bastard heritage?" Alistair sneered. "Strange how you  _can_ ignore things that should give you greater pause."

     "Such as, Alistair?" Salem folded her arms across her chest, not comfortable with this confrontation, but letting it play out. 

     "Where should I begin." Alistair asked. "The apostate mage with a tongue made of acid? The Antivan assassin who  _was sent to **kill** us? _ Or," he tapped his chin, "let me think...the  _delusional_ Orlesian  _ **bard**_ that you invited into our inner circle, and then  _to your bed!_ "

     "That is  _enough_ , Alistair." Salem snapped, drawing the elder warden in line. "Those three have saved our lives more times than we can ever repay. This is not about them and well you know it. Do  _not_ drag them into this. From the beginning, this has been between you and me."

     "You are  _using_ me, Salem!" Alistair shouted. "I was your  _friend_! I have fought and bled by your side, and you are taking  _no_ consideration for  _my_ future!"

     "This is not simply about your future, Alistair. This is about  _Ferelden's_ future." Salem rested her hand on his shoulder, looking directly into his eyes. "If it were simply about you, there would be no argument. I love you as I loved my own brother." she told him to his face at last. "And I know, I  _know_ , that this is not what you desired."

     "Like hell." he spat, clearly bitter. 

     "I lost  _everything_ to become a warden. Title, fortune, and lands that were my birthright. I am asking you to give up being a warden to take all those things for yourself. So do not make this a contest between us." Salem warned him. "Do not make this about who has suffered more tragedy or who deserves the right to dictate their own destiny, because I  _will_ emerge the victor. I would hope we have been through enough together that we need not measure or mete each other by such weak standards."

     "But  _why?"_  he drew closer to her until their noses were mere inches apart. "Tell me why, or, by Andraste's holy name, I will  _strike you down_."

      _This journey has changed him,_ I thought, considering the wardens who stood before me.  _When I first met him, Alistair would cower behind Salem, ceding every decision to her. Now he argues and stands his ground. He is fast becoming the heir to the Theirin name._

    "Because you are the only man who could lead this country." Salem emphasized every word. "Ferelden is splitting at the seams. You are what we need. We  _need_ a leader who will show compassion and wield the sword in protection, not seeking glory. We  _need_ a king with a heart for the people. Your brother played at hero because it is  _what he wanted_. He forsook his country for dreams of grandeur and  _failed._ You, Alistair...you are a hero. You are more Maric's son than Cailan ever could have been." _  
_

" _Cailan,"_ Alistair stressed, "was  _legitimate."_

     "Legitimacy means nothing." Salem replied. "The measure of a man's heart determines his capacity to lead and rule. This _is_ your decision Alistair. Though it may appear that I am making it for you, it is not true. I push you towards it because of how much I love my country."

     "I am no ruler, Salem." the man hung his head, almost ashamed. "These past months, fraught with peril as they have been, have been the happiest of my life. I have purpose, true purpose, a leader who treats me as an equal and who forces me to have a voice when I do not wish to have one. I am...comfortable...with you, Salem. I desire no other life than the one that I have now."

    "I never wanted this life at all." Salem confided in him the truth, the same truth she had told me, many times. "I was forced into it and I fit into the mold because life and time dictated that I must. I took charge because I could do nothing else. I am still at loose ends, Alistair, and while I do not think this is anything less than a trap, it is one I  _must_ walk into."

      _And now, I intervene._

     "What trap?" I asked, letting my presence be known.

     Alistair jumped at the sound of my voice. Salem merely smiled in greeting, telling me she knew of my presence the entire time. 

      _Cheeky warden,_ I thought,  _you are becoming much too astute for my liking._ _  
_

"We had a late night visitor." Alistair informed me. "Erlina, an elven maid in service to Queen Anora. She said that Loghain has gone mad; that he has imprisoned the queen in Arl Howe's estate because she intended to speak against him in the Landsmeet."

      _This is not coincedence._ "And?"

     "And  _Salem_ ," Alistair frowned, overly-indicating his displeasure, "wishes to march into Howe's estate and rescue the queen. This is madness. Tell her this is madness, Leliana."

      _Oh, Maker's shining light._ I looked at my warden, quirking an eyebrow. She pursed her lips and nodded, giving me leave to voice my opinion.  _This is not at all safe._ _  
_

"This is..." Alistair leaned forward, eager to hear my answer. If I sided with him, he knew Salem would not go against our wishes. _Maker forgive me, for I set death before her once again._ "...a risk worth taking."

     " _What_?" Alistair asked, incredulous. "Have you both gone  _insane_ _!?_ This is Loghain's way of drawing Salem into the open and  _ending_ her!"

     "What if it is not?" I defended Salem, who remained silent, determined to hear both sides of our argument. "What if the queen truly does wish to aid our cause? What if she has seen the madness in her father's eyes?"

     "You are siding with her to keep yourself in her affections." Alistair accused me. "Am I the only one who sees that this is a tale riddled with  _lies_ _!?"_

     "I love Salem, Alistair." I withered him with a glare, wordlessly reminding him of our conversation in the Frosbacks, when he confessed that he shared the same emotions for Salem as I did. "Do you think I want her walking into certain danger?"

     "No." the man averted his gaze. "Then why, Leliana?"

     "Because of this country's history." I answered. "When Ferelden won her indepence from Orlais, which three houses bound her together?"

     Alistair did not answer. Salem, however, did. 

     "Theirin," she spoke, "Mac Tir, and Cousland."

     I nodded. "If we could re-forge that powerful alliance at the Landsmeet, then none could stand against us. Not even Loghain's minions could decry the bloodlines that gave them their land, titles, and freedoms."

     "But...it is a lie." Alistair stressed. "I would wager the queen is not even there, but safe in the palace."

     "We have to believe against that." Salem encouraged him. "We have to believe that forces greater than ourselves will aid us. Please, Alistair. I  _must_ do this."

     "Very well." he spat, stalking out of the room. 

     Salem pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. I walked to her and embraced her, noticing that she trembled. 

     "I do not wish to argue with him." she whispered, resting her head on my shoulder. "Not when we need unity; not when I most require him by my side."

     "All will resolve itself." I promised her, soothing her by running my hand up and down her back. "But, Salem, he  _was_ right. This  _is_ madness. Chances stand that you will be doing exactly what Loghain, or perhaps Howe, desires."

     "I know." she answered. "But, Leli, I..."

     "Hush, love." I pressed my fingers to her lips. "I understand. And I will agree with your decision, on one condition."

     "And that is?" she asked. 

     "I am coming with you."

     "Leliana," she looked into my eyes, forcing me to face her, something she rarely did, "if this is a trap, you are the last person I want endangered."

      _Alas, my love, you force me into an ultimatum._

     "You will either be accompanied by me or Alistair." I set her options before her. "And I know you will not risk the life of Ferelden's future king."

     Salem laughed under her breath. "I surrender, dear heart." she said, sealing the accord with a soft kiss. 

      _Forgive me for setting that choice before you, Salem._ I whispered with my thoughts as she followed me back to our bed.  _But if you are to face hell once more, I **will not** be left behind. _


	7. The Favors We Ask

**Salem**

    Leliana adjusted the straps on the ill-fitting armor that Erlina had procured for us. It was a weak disguise, but better than marching in and announcing our presence to Howe's guards. I bristled as I thought of the man once more...how my blades longed for his blood. How his death might quiet the screams of my family that had rung in my ears since that night at Highever. 

     Alistair stood before the four of us who were going. I had decided on a smaller party in order to attract less attention. Two guards and two house domestics in the company of a maid could make a reasonable party. Erlina said that the arl-turned-teyrn had been hiring new guards on a daily basis, and that her guiding us to the estate would be unusual, but not enough to draw suspicion. 

     "I do not like this, Salem." Alistair said, his tone indicating that this would be his last warning. 

     "Nor do I." I smiled, roguish. 

     He did not seem amused. Leliana cinched the last buckle and I walked to the only other warden in Ferelden, placing my hand on his shoulder and drawing him aside. 

     "Alistair, listen. We need this. No matter the outcome, we need to have tried. We have almost no hard evidence against Loghain but what we have seen. And trust me when I say that if that is our sole defense, we  _will_ lose." _  
_

He pursed his lips and nodded, understanding my position and determination.

     "But why?" he asked. "Why do you always leave me on the sidelines in the face of our most difficult tasks. First in the Frostback mountains, now this? Are you losing faith in me, Salem?"

     I rested my hand on his arm. "Not that, Alistair. Never that. Listen to me, and listen  _well_. You are more important to Ferelden than I could ever be." I gave him the truth. My truth for him. "I am the last living member of a noble house that will not be remembered. You are the son of our king, but beside that,  _beyond_ that, you are a man of compassion, a man of honor, and a man of peace. Even if you do not take the crown, this land, our land, needs  _you_."

     "I do not see how you can believe that." he said, doubting himself as he had when first we met. 

     "Couslands have always had an eye for potential." I assured him. 

     He narrowed his eyes at me. "I am not certain I should believe you. You were blind for quite a spell."

      _At last! A stalemate broken!_ I thought, rejoicing in my private victory.  _Perhaps things between us will mend after all._

     "Even so." I laughed. "Please trust me on this as you have in other times, Alistair. I  _need_ you beside me now. Ferelden needs the two of us united. Without that, we stand no chance of victory."

     He smiled, wan, his eyes becoming those of the meek puppy, but behind it, I could see the gaze of the alpha wolf. 

     "I am beginning to think I never had a choice in this matter...in any matter, really. Consider me your right hand, Salem. If it means remaining away from the fight, if it means my wearing the damnable crown...I am with you in this, at your side, to the end."

      _Thank you, Maker. Thank you, Alistair._

     Overcome with emotion, I embraced my warden brother. He wrapped his arms around me. 

     "Thank you." I whispered, knowing again that my words were too weak, incapable of expressing my relief and gratitude. "Bless you."

     He withdrew from my arms and smiled. "This is only until I wear the crown." he said. "Then, Cousland, I own you."

     I smiled at his feigned arrogance and performed an awkward, armored curtsey. "As you say, King Alistair."

     The warden smiled, then sobered. "Come back safely, Salem."

     "No promises." I winked at him, attempting to alleviate his fears and conceal my own. 

     All assembled knew we were most assuredly walking into a trap. However, we had no way to go but forward, and, on the off-chance that Anora would be sympathetic to our cause...we could not disregard such a powerful ally. After all, the young queen had carried the country on her shoulders while her legend-enamored husband, eager to outshine his father, had played at war. 

     On the other hand...Anora had ceded her rule to Loghain once she heard of Cailan's death. The teyrn had announced his regency and not once had any word reached my ears of Anora protesting. There was too much trust in the Hero of River Dane. Too much trust that gave power to a madman and a murderer. 

      _If Cailan could have carried half of the burden that Alistair has borne, he would have been a much better king,_ I thought, reviling myself.  _Of course, to think such thoughts of a king, even one deceased, is against everything my house and family stood for. I have betrayed the Cousland name. Perhaps it was well within Fate's mandates that my title be stripped. I cannot be bound by such a strict code now._

     I flung a salute in Alistair's direction and followed Erlina to Howe's estate. Leliana slipped in step beside me. 

     "Is all well?" she asked. 

     I glanced back at the closing portcullis that protected Eamon's home, watching a dejected Alistair absently scratch Burrow's ear. My heart panged for him as I remembered his words. His life had never truly been his own. But he was willing to surrender it yet further, to be the heavy head that wore the crown...because he trusted me. 

     "He has accepted what needs to be done." I answered. "He told me that, should it come to it, he will take the throne."

     "I am sorry, Salem." Leliana whispered, keeping our conversation from Wynne and Morrigan, and, more importantly, Erlina.

     I nodded, understanding that she did not apologize, but understood the weight of the decisions I had been forced to make.

     "I do not like forcing a man to submit to chains." I told her. "Especially the chains that are fraught with such weight and expectation. But Alistair has risen to every challenge we have faced. He will not cower before this one...he will be a good king, Leliana. The king Ferelden needed at Ostagar."

     "It is your faith in him that makes him so." Leliana squeezed my hand. "It is your faith in all of us that keeps us together. It will be that faith which saves this country and slays the archdemon."

     I looked at her, unable to comprehend the magnitude of  _her_ faith. "How you can believe in me to this extent baffles my mind, Leliana."

     She laughed, lighting the air with music. "You did not watch a blind woman slay a dragon, my warden. Such a feat would fill the most bitter hearts with faith."

      _On the note of slaying dragons..._ my thoughts drifted to dark places. I knew where we were going; Leliana did as well. I did not wish to dance around the flames any longer. She needed to know. I needed to ask her. 

     "Leliana...I wish to ask...a difficult favor."

     She sensed a shift in my mood and the hopeful, bright expression on her face changed to one of sobriety and seriousness. 

     "Yes, love?"

     "Should we encounter Rendon Howe...I beg you..."  _Maker, how can I ask this of her,_ "...support my decision, no matter the outcome" I used the words she had said to me in Denerim when we were here the first time, when she and I had faced Marjolaine. "Let me make this choice for myself."

     Her eyes darkened, for she remembered when she said those words to me. 

     "You..."  _she knows,_ "...you are asking me to let you go."

      _To my darkness, to my bitterness, to the bleeding heart that longs to see justice done. To the ears that beg for silence from the screams that hound them day and night. Yes, dear heart. It is that which I ask of you...and it is not kind of me to do so._

     "Yes. Please, Leliana."

     We walked under the archway that led to Howe's estate and the air thickened with tension, the promise of battle and betrayal. I whispered a silent prayer of protection for those I loved. In addition, I begged the ancient gods, those who believed in vengeance, to grant me the blood of my enemy. 

     Leliana reached out, touching my skin one last time before we entered the lion's den. 

     "So beautiful and cruel." she smiled, sorrowful. "I promise."


	8. The Hells We Endure

**Leliana**

    Erlina, the elven maid, guided us to the servant's entrance of Howe's sprawling estate. She rested her hand on the latch of the door, looking this way and that, wary. Tension had knotted her shoulders and her eyes darted about like a madwoman's. 

     I frowned in disapproval.  _She is going to give us away if she persists in being so obviously surreptitious. Guilt and fear are stamped on her face. Let us hope that Howe's guards have no level of insight, or we are doomed._

     Erlina opened the door and signaled us to follow her. Salem entered first, adjusting the visor of her helmet with a frustrated tug. Normally, she did not wear a helm, citing that it blocked her peripheral vision and endangered her in battle. However, the scar on her cheek had made her quite conspicious, and both Loghain and Howe had seen it. They would have shared the knowledge with their guards and servants. 

     Morrigan and Wynne followed us into the estate, playing their role as house domestics. I stifled a giggle as I glanced back at them. The witch had been  _furious_ when forced to don an apron. She had only submitted after Salem physically restrained her and a chuckling Wynne had tied the strings. 

      _Who would ever have thought that the stubborn witch of the wilds could be brought to heel?_ I smiled, looking to Salem.  _You, my love, are a worker of miracles._

     "Through here," Erlina directed us through a banquet hall filled with off-duty guards. 

     The maid's shoulders tightened as we walked through. She stared at the floor, and I did not know if it was because she was an elf, and Howe more than likely a racist bigot, or because she was terrified of giving away the ruse. 

      _You are going to get us killed!_ My mind shrieked at her.  _Unless, of course, this is all part of the trap. Maker's breath, why are all the roads set before us lined with thorns on one side and shattered glass on the other?_

     We exited the dining area, entering a long hallway. A single door stood where the hall turned a corner. Erlina's pace quicked and the rest of us followed. 

     "My lady?" the elf whispered against the door. "My lady, it is Erlina."

      ** _This_** _is where they are "holding her prisoner"?_ I mused, examining the door.  _This room opens into the main thoroughfare of the estate, and there is but the one lock. Keeping her here is akin to treeing a kitten and convincing it that it is helpless to escape. Are we being played for fools?_

     "Leliana," Salem turned to me, "can you pick the lock?"

     "Child's play." I replied, reaching into my belt for my picks. 

     I knelt down and reached for the lock. 

     "I would stop, were I you." Morrigan laid her hand on my shoulder. "This door is magically sealed. If you touch it, you will be ripped apart. Unless the seal is removed, this door is death. _"_

_And you, of course, felt the need to speak only when my fingers were a hairsbreadth away._

     "Then remove the seal." Salem growled, clearly unhappy with the witch. 

     "'Tis not my handiwork." Morrigan drawled. "Neither I nor Wynne could undo it no matter what we might attempt."

     "Damn it." Salem cursed, stepping as close to the door as she safely could. "Anora, it's Salem Cousland. I've come to help."

     "Cousland?" the queen's voice, though muffled, held a quizzical tone. "Erlina," she addressed her maid, "you told me that  _the warden_  had agreed to aid us."

     The elf flushed to the tips of her ears and I noticed her hands beginning to tremble. Her lips quivered and I deduced that Anora was not the kindest of mistresses. Which, considering her parentage, did not shock me. 

     "Calm yourself, Anora." Salem ordered, shocking me. 

      _I cannot believe that she speaks to the queen in this manner! Salem has always displayed utmost nobility and respect...this...cavalier dialogue is not in her character at all. There is something here that I have missed._

     "I am that warden." Salem spoke again. "The door is sealed by magic. Where can I find the mage who holds the spell?"

     "Damn that man!" Anora's distorted shout. "Howe keeps his pet mages near him at all times, Salem. And you will like as not find  _him_ in the dungeon."

     "Of course." Salem's eyes lit and her voice dripped with blood-thirst.

      _Do not lose yourself to this, my love._ I begged her, silent.  _Please, do not discard the heart I have seen you open. Do not forsake that beauty._

     "Give me time, Anora." Salem spoke. "I will come back for you...you know that."

     "Keep safe, Salem." the queen urged. 

     Salem turned her fearsome gaze on Erlina, who quailed from it. "Where will I find the dungeon?" she asked. 

     "D...down the hall, you will find a staircase there." Erlina stammered. "It will lead you to the dungeon."

     Salem rested an authoritative hand on the elf's shoulder. "You should go." my warden dismissed her. "Chances are that our disguises will not hold, and anyone not in Howe's personal retinue will be suspect. So leave, and do not worry. I will deliver Anora back to you, unscathed."

     "What," Morrigan asked as we continued down the hall, "in seven hells, was  _that?_ Do all nobles feel free to address their queen as their equal?"

      _I meant to ask the same question,_ I thought, looking to Salem for an explanation. 

     Salem's eyes drifted back, deep into her past. She smiled at times gone by. Times that had been stolen, memories that had been sundered. 

     "Upon a time," she said, "Anora and I were friends. But that was before the war with Orlais ended; when Mac Tir, Theirin, and Cousland were all equal. Loghain desired the throne, but Ferelden wanted Maric. So Loghain grasped at power the only way he could. He proposed a match between Cailan and Anora, and Maric agreed."

     "And your and the queen's friendship ended there?" Wynne inquired. "There seems more to it than that."

     "Of course." Salem edged into a downward-leading staircase. "There are always more to these stories. It is little known, and less spoken of, that Maric Theirin was the  _second_ choice for king."

      _But that would mean..._  

     "So you...you could have been...royalty?" I asked.

     As a bard, I had scrutinzed the histories and lineage of nobles from all lands. What Salem had just revealed was in none of them. 

     "Little chance of that." Wynne interjected. "Bryce Cousland being the man he was. I had the pleasure of meeting him once, and could see that his character would make him the greatest of kings, but the wishes of his heart were not in line with a man on the throne."

     "He wanted peace." Salem said as we continued down. "A quiet life with his family and his land. He wished to refuse a teyrnir, but Maric would have none of it. Regardless, the fact that Loghain, the war hero, was overlooked,  _twice_ , for a position of power...Mac Tir and Cousland have been at odds ever since. And girlhood friendships are easily trampled when their fathers disagree."

     Salem trailed off and my heart grew heavy.  _She was close to Anora...and the machinations of a jealous man took that from her. I am sorry, Salem. However, there is a greater chance that this will work in our favor. If Anora shares your sentiments, perhaps this trap will not be effectually sprung._ _  
_

We entered the dungeon and I shuddered. the scent of blood, death, and filth hung heavy in the air. I shuddered and attempted to ground myself before I lost my mind.

      _Why did I insist on coming here with her? I have...I have never lost my fear of these places. This is a house of death and suffering and I do not wish to be here._

     I found myself edging closer to Salem, needing her strength. Craving it. I averted my eyes from the cells, even those that were empty. I knew them all too well: the dried blood on the floor, the rancid piles of straw, the skittering of rats. 

     A guard stood at the end of the row of cells. He turned to face us, set eyes on Salem, and frowned. 

     "You there." he called. "Why have you brought servants to the dungeons?"

     "Teyrn Howe's orders." Salem answered, disguising her voice.

     "The teyrn would order no such thing. No one but him and the guards are permitted entrance to the dungeon. Remove your helmet. Now."

     I reached for my daggers with trembling hands. Salem sighed and did as she was ordered. Her dark, thick hair tumbled into place and Howe's guard saw the tell-tale scar. 

     "It's the warden!" he shouted. I tried to pull my knives, but my fingers shook too badly. 

     Salem unsheathed her swords when a pair of hands reached through the bars of a cell and grabbed the guard, dragging him against the door. Strong hands snapped the guard's neck and the body slumped to the floor with a sickening thud. 

     "Well that was...fortuitous." Morrigan quipped. 

     "Stay here." Salem ordered the three of us as she approached the cell. 

     I leaned against the wall, trying to conceal the fact that my entire body was trembling. The warning had been sounded; more soldiers were on the way, and our numbers were few. If we were captured...

_...oh Maker, no. Not again. I cannot live through it again._


	9. The Hate I Feel

**Salem**

      I approached the cell, keeping my distance from the bars, lowering my eyes to the body on the floor. 

      _An efficient kill_ , I nudged the corpse with my boot, looking for any reaction or sign of life.  _And an unusual show of strength from a prisoner locked in conditions such as these._

     I stood before the cell and examined the man within it. We were of an equal height, but he seemed shorter, keeping his posture diminutive in an obvious effort to draw attention away from his lethal physique. I could see his muscles, taut and firm, beneath the tattered rags of his clothing. His face had not seen a razor in some time, and unruly, black hair, greasy from lack of washing, hung to his shoulders. He met my gaze, shocked, but unflinching. 

      _There is something...familiar...about him. I feel as though we have met before...a whisper in the back of my mind that says I should know him._

     "You are the warden, no?" he asked in a thick, Orlesian accent. "I mean you no harm, I swear it."

     "Then give me your name." I answered, still wary. 

     His body showed few signs of abuse; I had no way of knowing if Howe had planted him here for just such an eventuality. If I released him, he might turn on me and my companions, take us by surprise, and end our bid for the peace of our country before it even began. 

     "I am Riordan of Orlais." he replied, looking at me with quizzical, almost frustrated eyes. 

     "That tells me nothing." the room beyond echoed with faint shouts. 

     My lips tightened as it became clear that the unfortunate guard's warning had indeed alerted the others to our presence. 

     "Has Duncan taught you  _nothing_?" Riordan demanded, grasping the bars of his cell. "Can you not even sense one of your own?"

      _He **is** a Grey Warden,_ realization struck me.  _This must be why I do not feel as a stranger to him._

     "Leliana," I called to my bard, "I need you here."

     She approached me, moving with a slow, unsteady gait. I ran my eyes over her body, displeased with what I saw. Her chest rose and fell too rapidly, her eyes were wide and fearful, and her skin seemed too pale, even in the dim light of the dungeons. 

      _Maker's breath...she looks as though she has witnessed death itself. Why..._ again, realization struck.  _Ancient gods and heavens! I did not even think...we are in a dungeon...a place that holds horrors unknown for her memory and mind. Damn me! I have dragged her into hell._

     "Leli?" I caught her arm as she stumbled. Her eyes were bloodshot and choked with nightmares. "Leliana, look at me."

     She did not seem to hear. 

     I framed her face with my hands and drew her forehead to mine. "Leliana,  _listen_ to me." I stressed. "I am here, with you, and I  _need_ you here with me. Now." 

     There were tears in her eyes, glittering diamonds of pain and terror. I hugged her close to me. 

     "I will not let them take you." I promised, fierce. "Even if I must forego my own vengeance, I swear I  _will_ keep you safe."

      _Maker's blood,_ I thought as I grasped her hands,  _you're freezing_. Her body shivered in my arms. 

     "I...I'm all right." her voice quavered, but at least she spoke. "What do you need of me?"

     "I need this man's cell unlocked." I reached into her belt and retrieved her lockpicks. "He is a Grey Warden from Orlais."

     Leliana pursed her lips into a thin line, knelt before the cell door, and set herself to the task. The minute trembling of her fingers and the subtle shiver of the picks against the locks did not go unnoticed. 

     Riordan folded his arms, his upper lip curled in disdain. My display of affection clearly displeased him. I bored into him with my gaze. 

     "Duncan is dead." I informed the warden. "Killed at Ostagar at the start of this damn Blight. Alistair and I are the sole wardens left in this country."

     Grief passed like a fleeting shadow over Riordan's face as the door to his cell swung open. All assembled winced at the grating screech of rusted metal hinges, and Leliana retreated to my side. Her hand wrapped around my wrist as though begging for an anchor. 

     "Thank you." the former prisoner acknowledged her with a nod. 

     "You are most welcome." Leliana lifted her chin, refusing to show fear or weakness before a stranger. 

     "Take this guard's armor and disguise yourself." I kicked the corpse with my boot once more. "Then make your way to the estate of Arl Eamon. You will find Alistair there."

     "You left the only other warden  _behind?"_ Riordan raised his voice as though he were a senior officer, and I his mindless, ignorant subordinate. 

     "Stand. Down." I warned him. "Your order has done  _nothing_ to aid in this Blight. In Weisshaupt you may be my senior, but here, in this time and country, my orders are law."

     Riordan glowered at me. "Duncan always did seek out upstarts. Very well, then. I will meet you again at the estate of this arl...if this ill-fated venture does not see you dead first."

     "Go." I muttered. 

      _I do not believe that he and I will agree on much of anything._

     "Are you certain that was wise?" Morrigan watched Riordan depart. 

     "Wise or not,  _that_ is the way it will be." I stated. "I  _have not_ been dragged through hell to be undermined by a stranger in the final days."

     "This is vastly becoming unimportant." Wynne gestured to the dungeon beyond. 

     A door opened and more of Howe's guards rushed into the room before us. I drew my swords; felt Leliana's fingers tighten around my arm. She looked up at me in worry and I attempted to smile, though I feared for her. 

      _She is in no condition to fight. It is taking all of her will to simply stand here._

     "Stay behind Wynne and Morrigan." I told her, moving forward to meet my enemies. 

     I looked to Wynne as she readied her staff. As our healer, she was the only other person who knew the entirety of Leliana's story and who had seen the gruesome details of it etched into her skin. The senior enchanter nodded, understanding my voiceless plea. 

      _Keep her safe._

     I stormed into the midst of Howe's guards, letting my darker heart take hold. We had not seen true battle since we left the Frostback mountains. The last time I had fought, I had been blind, hesitant, unable to strike with surety. Not so anymore. 

      _I am coming for you, Rendon Howe_ , satisfaction filled me as I cut through a man's gorget and into his neck. 

     "Capture, do not kill!" the captain of the guard shouted. 

      _Howe, you fool._ I bared my teeth in a blood-thirsty smile. Capture held no interest for me. I wanted...needed...blood. 

     "Kill them all!" I roared. 

     "Salem, down!" Morrigan yelled a warning. 

     I dropped to the ground and felt heat wash over me. Howe's men shrieked as Morrigan's flames ate through their armor and into their skin. I rose from the ground, staring at the burning bodies. I danced between them, stabbing, slicing, dismembering. Their deaths were but the beginning of the slaughter. 

      _I will strip away everything that keeps you safe, Howe. I will remove every surety you have. You will feel as helpless as I did the night before you stole **everything** I held dear._  

     The captain stood near the door, sword held in quivering hands. Many soldiers had seen magic used in battle; few had ever beheld the fury of a witch of the wilds in unabashed, unapologetic, apostate glory. I raised my blade to the captain's throat. His own weapons clattered to the ground. 

     "Look at me." I growled. 

     He met my eyes and his mouth opened in wordless terror. "D...demon." he stuttered. 

     "Demon?" I pushed the tip of my sword into his throat and twirled the blade, watching it tear a hole in the man's flesh. "Perhaps. Answer me, captain, do you want to live?"

     He nodded. 

     "Tell me where Howe is, and keep your life." I offered. 

     "The...the level below." his shaking finger spointed to another stairwell. "He...he keeps two mages with him at all times."

     "Thank you." I continued twisting my sword. "Maker's blessings."

     The captain's eyes went wide, a mixture of terror and betrayal as I forced my sword through his neck, severing his spine. Blood fountainted out and the body collapsed to the ground. I smiled, watching scarlet puddle flow out onto the floor. 

     I turned to my companions, ignoring the shock on their faces. I did not care if they had heard my lies. This was my time for vengeance. This was the reason I had forced myself to stay alive. 

      _At last, those who perished at Highever will rest in peace. Blood for blood, Arl Howe. I will end you._


	10. The Scars that Ache

**Leliana**

_Have I lost you already, my love?_

     Salem turned towards us, her face spattered with blood, her teeth bared, her eyes aglow with absolute hatred. I shrank away as she neared us and I cowered from her gaze. I had seen that look before. It had lived in the eyes of the men who had taken their delight in destroying me. To see such malice in the face of the woman I loved, a woman I knew to be kind and gentle, shook me to my core. 

     "Is everyone all right?" she asked, her voice worlds away from the Salem I knew, the Salem who had comforted me not moments ago when she realized my terror. 

     "We are well." Wynne answered, moving to stand before me, to protect me from the one person I never thought I would fear. 

     "Good." her smile widened and the torchlight glinted off of her teeth, menacing. "Howe is on the lower level." she jerked her chin in the direction of another staircase.

     "Then we should go." Wynne and Morrigan walked away. 

     I moved to join them when a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. The force and foreignness of the touch made me flinch. 

     "Leliana," Salem spoke in the different tone that chilled my blood, "you can wait for us, if you like. I will not make you go further."

      _And be here...alone? No. No. I cannot do this, Salem._ I risked looking at her and quickly averted my gaze.  _Salem, **please.** I need your gentleness now as much as I need your strength. Forgive me, for I know I am a burden and a hindrance, but if...if you love me...do not become what I see before me. Do not become a woman who would kill more readily than she would save. That is  **not** who you are._ 

     "No." I managed to speak, but kept my eyes downcast. "I will be all right."

     "Are you certain?"

      _No._ _  
_

I nodded, relief flooding me as her hand left my body and returned to her sword.

      _I never thought...I never thought that I would see such an emotionless void in you. I know what I promised, Salem. I promised that I would not question your decisions, that I would rein in my tongue and let you have your vengeance. But this is changing you...what if you never return from the actions you take this night?_

     I followed Salem as she walked to the stairs, watching her long, purposeful strides, the set of her shoulders. 

      _I cannot._ A wave of resolve began to drown my fears.  _I cannot cower in a corner and watch as she destroys herself. Salem has been my strength for so long. She will face a breaking point, as I did when I confronted Marjolaine on the coast after I had healed enough to walk again. Salem will be forced to decide between vengeance and her own identity. And if...if she loses herself...I must be able to continue. To save her from what she might become._

     Before descending the stairs, Salem glanced over her shoulder, seeking me out. I offered her a slight smile, the most I could manage. She returned it, and for a flicker of time, the spark of hatred in her eyes dimmed. 

      _Let me be enough,_ I prayed.  _Dear Maker, let me be a promise for her to come back to._

     I followed behind her and we met up with the others. Salem bypassed them, Morrigan following her. Wynne grasped my hand. 

     "Are you all right, Leliana?" she asked.

     Wordless, I shook my head. I did not know what to say, or how to answer her. 

      _I, too, have many questions. Where are my answers, Wynne?_

     I wanted Salem. I wanted her by my side, whispering reassurances, making me forget that I was surrounded by dungeon walls, deafening my ears to the ghosts of screams and agonized confessions. But she was not with me. She had faded back to that dark night in Highever, the night of pain and horror and betrayal and death. A night before she even knew that I existed. 

      _Do I exist to her now? Can you even see me, my love? Can you hear as your every departing footfall smears my heart into the ground?_

     I remained a little farther behind as we moved down the staircase. 

     "Gather your wits." I spoke to myself, harsh. "You are letting your fear turn to anger and...and she does not deserve it."

     I summoned what little strength I could find and joined the others. The staircase emptied into a large room. Instruments of torture hung from the support pillars. I cringed away from them, knowing their uses, every scar on my body twinging as I witnessed and recalled what had made it. 

     "Howe!" Salem's shout echoed across the stone floor. 

     The serpent-faced man turned to face us. A slow smile spread across his face like oil spilled upon the ground. 

     "Cousland's brat?" he asked in his grating, urbane tones. 

     My skin crawled.  _This is a man who delights in pain._ I saw it in his eyes, knew it from experience.  _He is a weak man granted power, and he will take that to any extreme._

     "And your ending." that haze had entered Salem's eyes again, murderous rage and fierce intent. 

     "My ending?" Howe scoffed. "No, child. You are far beyond your depth here."

     Salem strode forward, swords at the ready. "I could descend into the depths of the abyss and still not reach your low, Howe." there was too much heat in her voice. 

      _She is walking into this blinded by rage and fury. The captain of the guard said that Howe is never without his mages. I do not see them, but this is a trap...a trap within a trap. How many more are laid for us?_

     " _Salem!_ " I shrieked in warning, my voice at last above a whisper. 

     She turned to look at me as fire flooded the center of the room. Salem dropped to the floor and rolled away from the flames as Howe drew a monstrous sword with a scimitar's shape and a serrated edge. 

      _Our story does not end here,_ I vowed, my hands at last able to grip the hilts of my weapons.  _Our love does not end here, and **neither** will our lives! _ _  
_

I drew my blades and dashed into the room as Wynne and Morrigan staved off the attacks of Howe's pet mages.

     Salem got to her feet as the wash of magical fire died. Howe walked to her at a leisurely pace as a flurry of razor sharp ice spun through the room. I ducked behind a pillar, placing a hand to my stinging cheek. My fingers came away red. I caught sight of an enemy mage as he raised his staff in Salem's direction. 

     I took advantage of his focus and rushed him, my blade sliding through his robes and into his skin with ease. His staff clattered to the floor and I smiled, watching his eyes glaze over with death. A triumphant wolf's howl echoed through the room and I knew the other mage had met his end at the edge of Morrigan's teeth. 

     I joined Wynne at the foot of the stairs, watching as Rendon Howe and Salem circled each other. The strength that had filled me fled and my hands trembled once more. However, it was not the memories of my torture that made them do so. 

     I looked at Salem, my love, my heart. I examined the set of her jaw, the feral, blood-mongering animal inside her eyes of death. A single tear crept from my eye and burned as it scored the cut on my cheek. 

     I reached out to Wynne for support and she wrapped an arm about me, understanding what was, and what might be. 

      _Good-bye,_ my thoughts whispered as swords clashed,  _my love._


	11. The Thirst for Blood

**Salem**

      _What in hell!?_

I rolled under Howe's monstrous sword, dodging its wicked, serrated edge as he brought it down with more force than he should have possessed. 

      _That blade is larger than he is!_

     "Cede this battle, brat!" Howe attempted an insult. "You are a thorn in Ferelden's side! You are  _crippling_ your country!"

      _Keep silent,_ I forced myself not to answer in kind, to focus on Howe's blade instead of his words.  _This is a battle I **must** win. So that the dead may rest. So that my soul will know peace._ 

     "Say something!" Howe shrieked, discomfitted by my silence, as I had intended him to be. 

     His sword swung down once more and I blocked it with my offhand blade. The serrated edge caught against my weapon; I could not move it. With a sharp twist, Howe flung my sword away. He followed with a heavy slash to my right arm and I could neither avoid nor block it. His blade screeched through my armor and tore into my skin with brutal savagery. 

     I hissed as Howe pulled his sword through my skin, the serrated edge slicing deeper and deeper. The blade emerged, drenched with first blood. Hatred bubbled through me as Howe's eyes lit with sadistic glee. 

      _Give in,_ my darker voice whispered as the scent of blood struck the air.  _Forego reserve, abandon nobility. **Kill.**_

     I transferred my remaining sword to my left hand, caught off-guard by its weight, as the blade for my dominant arm was heavier than its offhand counterpart. But I showed no sign of this, giving Howe a feral grin, disguising my new handicap. 

     "Say something?" I asked, watching my enemy circle. "What do you want me to say?"

     I stepped forward, swinging my blade up in an underhand strike. Howe stepped back and I switched the direction of my weapon mid-strike, grazing his cheek with the tip of my sword. I pressed the attack when I saw shock light his eyes. 

     "Do you want me angry?" I asked as our swords collided and sparks flew. "Do you want me to scream out a litany of your crimes? Do you desire a tearful child, Howe? That girl is dead." 

      _All innocence ripped away._

     I parried Howe's frantic thrust, stumbling as the room swerved and tilted before my eyes. 

      _The cut in my arm is deep. I'm...losing blood._

     Latching onto my hatred, forsaking all else, I felt strength surge through me. I began hacking at him, merciless. Pure rage flowed through my veins, giving me purpose, granting me power. He could not counter the viciousness of my attacks and for every step forward I took, he backpedaled, graceless. 

     The sight of his face made my physically ill. I remembered walking into the great hall of my home and seeing my father. I had exchanged pleasantries with the man who had smiled and suggested his son for my husband, all the while planning to  _slaughter_ the family that had greeted him as a friend and ally. 

     I once again saw the fear in my mother's eyes when she had entered my room after the attack had begun and found me on my knees, bleeding. Her hands had trembled as she bandaged the wound. She had been so strong, even when she saw her grandson on the floor with his throat torn open. She had led me from the room as I stared at the body of my sister-in-law and friend. 

     I had watched my mother die protecting my father. She had fallen with an arrow in her chest as Duncan had dragged me into the escape passage. I felt my father's blood on my hands, burning like acid. And the man before me, cowering from my vicious assault, had done this. It. Had. Been. Him. 

      _He_ was the reason for my tainted blood.  _He_ was the father of my nightmares.  _He_ had torn away all of my belief in my country and had stolen my zest for life.  _He_ had been the reason my heart turned to stone, the reason I could no longer claim to be who I once was. A woman of peace. A woman who had not taken human life. A _good_ woman.  _  
_

     "You killed me!" I shouted, pressing my onslaught until Howe was backed against one of the pillars. 

     I saw the chains hanging from an iron band attached to the stone and I smiled as a plan formed in my mind. I lifted my leg and planted it in Howe's gut, slamming him into the pillar. I moved in close, rendering his sword useless, and rammed my gauntleted fist into his face. He sagged against the pillar, stunned. 

     Moving faster than I thought possible, I reached for the chains, locking the manacles around Howe's wrists and dashing his blade from his weakened grip. 

     I leaned in close, a hunter before helpless prey. 

     "You killed me." I said again, low, vicious. 

     "Release me!" Howe strained against his chains. "Unhand me, you bitch! I am a noble of Ferelden!"

     " _So! Was! I!"_ I backhanded him, satisfied as the cut on his cheek ripped open further. "Before you killed me, I had never taken human life! Without your damned interference, I would still be noble; I  _would still be pure!"_

     "You bitch-born whore!" Howe spat in my face and I struck him again. "I am glad I put your family down like the rabid dogs they are!"

     "Do. Not. Speak." I warned him, pulling a knife from my belt and pressing it to his throat. 

      _Cease talking, Rendon Howe, and I will give you a humane death. Then, with a guiltless heart, I can return to the ones I love, and finish this Blight._

     I glanced back at my companions, seeing Morrigan's approving smile, Wynne's worry, and Leliana's...devastating sorrow. 

      _She is afraid,_ I realized, feeling the fire in my heart begin to calm as I took in the pain stamped on my lover's features.  _Howe will die,_ I turned back to him,  _a quick, painless death. I will not force Leliana to watch me lose my humanity._

     "I did it myself." Howe's oily voice slipped across my shoulders and down my spine. 

     "What?"

     "I tied her up." Howe laughed, deep and maniacal. "Your brother's half-breed whore. Half Antivan, half Orlesian...an abomination. I bound her hands and gagged her. My men held her eyes open as I slit the boy's throat. I forced her to watch as her child bled out, then left, giving my soldiers the joy of her body. They raped her over her child's corpse."

     My entire body began shaking as I felt blood drain from my face. 

      _You vile, soulless...there are no words to encompass the **evil** in your heart._ 

     Without thinking, I jammed my knife into his gut and twisted the blade, keeping it inside his body. I would not give him the relief of removing it. He deserved the cold of the metal eating into his insides. 

     " _Why_?" I growled, slowly rotating the blade, tearing his guts apart. 

     Howe smiled, sensing that he had gained control. "Because the Couslands  _bred_." he snarled. "You mingled Ferelden blood with the blood of the country that  _enslaved_ us.  _What greater treason is there!?"_

      _That,_ I struck Howe across the face, cherishing the gargling scream as his nose broke,  _is your **reason!?** You massacred  **innocents** because my brother found his love and bore a  **child?!**_

     "Cousland," Howe grimaced at the name, still speaking as blood colored his teeth, " _betrayed_ Ferelden. For all your vaunted nobility, your heralded loyalty, you are  _nothing_ but vile,  _filthy, **heretics!** "_ 

     Fury fissured through my veins and I jerked my knife out of his body. A hoarse gasp broke from his lips and flecks of his blood dotted my cheek. 

     "I told you." I hissed, reaching into his mouth and pulling out his tongue. "Not. To. Speak."

     I laid the razor edge of my blade against his tongue and began slicing through the thick, twitching muscle with slow, shallow strokes. Howe writhed against the chains, straining to break free of my grasp. I held firm as blood and saliva coated my fingers and the acrid scent of fear choked me. Another delicate slice across his tongue brought an animal cry shredding out of his throat. 

     "You will die here." I promised him, rocking the blade back and forth, forth and back. Howe's face turned even whiter. "And I swear to you, your children will  _suffer_ , Rendon Howe. Any who cross my path and bear your blood will know  _unspeakable_ torment before they die."

     Howe's eyes widened with fear, but pain and blood loss had weakened his body. He could no longer resist me. He could not fight his chains. I had bound him as he had bound Oriana. I would exact from him in skin, blood, and bone what had been taken from me in heart, soul, and spirit. I slid the knife a little deeper, and Howe whimpered. 

     "Shhh." I soothed him. "It will be over soon. 

     Howe's eyes began to roll back and I stopped my bladed ministrations. 

     "No no no." I smiled and gentled my voice. "You do not get to stop feeling yet. You are blessed, Howe. Your pain will end here, with your death. Mine goes on, from here into eternity. Consider this the kindness you did not show me or my family."

     Howe's half-severed tongue twitched in my grasp and I chuckled, low. "Good. Good." I encouraged him. "Stay awake with me. Your life is not yet over. There is so much left for you to feel. So much terror, so much anguish, so much agony."

     I altered my grip on my knife and prepared to begin sawing at his tongue again. A strong grasp iced around my wrist, immobilizing my weapon hand. 

     "Salem. Stop."

     I gazed into the ocean depths of Leliana's eyes.  _I do not have time for this._

     "Let me go." I warned her. 

     "No." her voice, if possible, was colder than mine. " _Look_ at him, Salem." she urged. "What do you see?"

     I flicked my eyes to Howe. "A murderer. A rapist. A less-than-human monster who  _deserves_ death."

     "Death,  _yes_." she agreed. "Torture, no. I know that I am breaking my word; I said I would not interfere, but this is  _ **not** who you are. _Please, my love." her voice faded to a wisp of air. "Please."

     Howe's eyes flared at the endearment, flashing with murderous intent, even as his life slid out of his body and dripped on the floor. 

     "Yes, Howe." I sneered. "Another Cousland heretic in love with an Orlesian. How you must wish your hands were free."

     "Salem!" Leliana snapped, bringing my attention back to her. "If you persist in this you will lose  _everything!_ You have built a life from the ruins of what Howe left behind! Are you willing to sacrifice  _ **all that you have** **become**_  simply to cause him pain!? Are..." her voice lowered, choked with tears, "...are you willing to sacrifice me?"

     I stared at my bard, raising a single, incredulous brow. 

     "Look at him, Leliana!" I screamed, furious with her for holding me back. "You  _heard_ him confess! He  _murdered_ a six year old  _child!_ He left my sister-in-law to be  _ **raped** and  **murdered!**_ _How_ can you stay my hand!? How can you say my actions against him are  _ **undeserved!?** "_

    " _Because I **was raped!** "_ she countered, fierce though fearful. "And I had the chance to take revenge on the one who caused me  _ **untold suffering!**_ You," her voice quavered with sorrow and anxiety, "you became my vengeance and you died for my crimes. Let me be your redemption, my warden. Mete justice, not vengeance. Take his life; end your suffering."

      _And mine..._ her eyes pleaded with the words she left unsaid. 

      _Leliana..._ I stared into her eyes and felt my rage falter _...I want to hold you after the world ends. I want to remain at your side for the rest of my limited breath. You...you have never asked such a thing of me before. You have never intervened...if I continue this, I will sacrifice too much of myself. So much that you will no longer know me to love me. And I...I cannot die again. I could not break my skin and I **will not** slay my soul. I cede this round to you...for you have reminded me of mercy._ 

     "A...As you say."  _  
_

      _I love you._

     I released my grip on Howe's tongue and Leliana relinquished my wrist. Howe's head lolled and I grabbed him by the hair and lifted it, baring his neck. 

     "Blood for blood, Howe." I told him. "Cousland rests in peace."

     With those words, I drew the knife across his throat. Rendon Howe departed his sick, miserable life with a gurgling rasp. At last, my family's killer had met with...justice. 

     The room spun and the awareness of pain returned as strength flooded out of me. I swayed on my feet and Leliana gathered me in her arms. They were comforting; they were warm, but they trembled. 

     "Thank you." she whispered, over and over again until the two words smeared to one. 

      _I owe you my sanity,_ I hugged her tight.  _I love you, more than any hope of vengeance, more than any restitution. The dead are at rest; my life must go on. Blood for blood, yes. But love is worth far, far more. More, even,_ I looked at Howe's collapsed, lifeless shell hanging from the chains that bound his wrists,  _than vengeance._


	12. The Killer that Comforts

**Leliana**

      _You are safe now._

I did not know if that thought was for me, or for the trembling woman I held in my arms. 

      _You are safe, and this is ended. Let it trouble you no further._

     Salem pulled away, keeping her hands on my shoulders to steady herself. Her eyes saw the cut on my cheek and her demeanor immediately changed from one of exhausted wrath to one of heart-felt concern. 

     "Are you all right?" her voice was hoarse as she traced the cut. "Is this the worst of it?"

     "Yes." I assured her. "We are well, Salem."

     Relief crossed her features and she turned to Wynne and Morrigan, taking great care to avoid looking at the limp, lifeless body of Rendon Howe. Blood still dripped onto the floor from his corpse and sick, sticky strings of crimson dangled from his open mouth. 

     "The bastard's mages?" Salem asked. 

     "Dead and gone." Morrigan bent and retrieved Salem's offhand blade from the floor, handing it to the warden with an insouciant flourish. "All magic they worked will certainly be undone by that."

     "Then we should get back to Anora." Salem returned her mind to the task at hand. "I have cost us enough time as it stands."

     "'Twas time well spent." Morrigan spat in the direction of Howe's body in an uncharacteristic show of support for my warden. 

     Salem looked at me, tenderness masking the death in her eyes for the briefest of moments. I could see the woman I knew and loved emerging once again, and in my heart I wept tears of thanks. 

     "Nonetheless," Salem countered, "I have kept you here too long."

     It seemed as though she addressed all of us, but I knew that she meant her words for me. I had watched her surrender to her darker heart...and it had made me break my promise. I had always sworn, first to myself and then to my lover, that I would not interfere should she ever cross paths with the man who had destroyed her life. 

      _But...what she was doing...I could not countenance such treatment, no matter how much he deserved it. I have known men like Howe; have been ruined by them. And Marjolaine...I wished to show her mercy. I am not displeased by her death, but I do wonder what might have happened if she could have sought redemption._

     I glanced at Howe's body once again, held up only by the chains that bound him to the pillar. He seemed so small, so insignificant...nothing like a man that could have ordered a massacre. His death in this place was fitting, the instruments of torture suspended above him were an egregious, ironic monument. 

     A shudder rippled through me and I reached for Salem's arm, needing her support once more as I saw the coiled whips of leather, the thumbscrew...the pear of anguish.  

     My warden hissed and pulled away when I touched her and remorse panged through my heart. 

      _Maker's blood. What have I done? Perhaps I did overstep when I stopped her..._

     "Salem, have I..."

     "It's all right." she spoke through clenched teeth and cradled her right arm to her chest. "Howe's blade..."

     I remembered the shriek of metal when Howe's sword had sliced into her armor. I had looked away, unable to bear watching, praying that she would not be wounded. 

     "You're hurt." I realized, taking her left hand and walking her into the light of a flickering torch, away from Howe's corpse. 

     There was a fearsome gash in her armor, and the sheared metal was flecked with blood. I hastily removed her damaged pauldron and examined the injury to her arm. Her shirt was soaked scarlet from the dark slice across her bicep. I could see the ragged edges of torn muscles, and my heart kicked against my ribs as I probed the wound and saw the yellow of bone. 

     "Here." Wynne spoke from behind me, handing me a roll of bandages and a poultice of herbs. It smelled of shepherd's purse, an herb used to stop bleeding. "Bind the wound."

     "Can you not heal..." I began to ask the mage. 

     "We haven't time." Wynne interrupted, gently nudging me out of the way. 

     She pressed the poultice over the gash and Salem bit her lip as the blood drained from her face. Her breathing evened as Wynne began to wrap the arm in bandages to hold the poultice in place. 

     "Chances stand that Howe's blade splintered her armor." Wynne mused as she tied off the bandage. "If there is metal in the cut, it must be removed before a spell could cleanly and safely close the wound."

     "And even were that not the case," Morrigan added, "it is unwise to attempt to heal Salem when further skirmishes are certain. 'Twould not do to have her shrieking call all the remaining guards to us."

     "Hold your tongue, witch." Salem growled as Wynne stepped away from her. 

     Salem did not wish her weaknesses exposed, even if she knew them full well. Her strange reaction to healing magic was a great detriment to her safety. More often than not, the pain she experienced from Wynne's spells caused her to lose consciousness. 

     The senior enchanter handed Salem a waterskin and glared at her until Salem drank enough to satisfy the mage. My warden returned the waterskin and Wynne and Morrigan headed for the staircase that would lead us back to the upper floors of the estate. 

     I turned to follow them, but felt Salem's arm wrap around my waist. Her hold was firm, comforting, not at all taut with fury as it had been before. 

     "Forgive me." she whispered. "The pain in my arm caught me unaware when you touched me. I apologize if you inferred..." she trailed off, uncertain of what to say. 

      _That you were angry with me? I still do not know where you are in this moment. I am worried for you, my love. I am worried that my actions impeded the healing of your soul, and that, in my fear, I overreached my boundaries._

     "Salem, about Howe..."

     "This is not the time." she interrupted, steel in her voice. "Are you truly well, Leliana? You're trembling."

      _Damn it._

     I clenched my hands into fists, angry that my body would not stop betraying the thoughts in my mind. Angry that I could not dim the sounds of my own screams in my ears. Angry that I could not build a wall to safeguard my psyche from the environment that tormented it. 

     "I am shaken." I answered, shielding my face behind my hair. "But standing."

     I stole a quick glance at her face; saw her eyes gazing forward into the future, into the mission. Only the crease in her brow betrayed her concern; her fear that her actions had back-spiraled me into hell. 

      _Again?_ Guilt tore at my heart.  _Again she takes a share of the blame. My love, you are not at fault. It is my eyes that are damaged in this place. It is my heart that founders._

     "Salem!" Morrigan's call echoed down the stairway and into the room.

     My warden rushed from my side, drawing both of her blades in spite of her injury, once again preparing for battle. I stumbled at the loss of her support, fear gripping my heart. I felt as though a phantom hand strangled me. 

     I made it to the stairway and forced myself forward, grasping at the wall as my knees buckled. The nightmares in my mind flashed before my eyes and suddenly it was me, not Howe, chained to that pillar with metal protruding from my body, blood dripping from between my lips, and Salem's knife spinning in my gut. 

     I laid my hand against the scar of Marjolaine's betrayal, crying out as phantom pain sliced through my body, as harsh and raw as when the wound was fresh. I crashed to the ground, bruising my knees, listening to the ghosts of my screams, remembering the sensation of sundered skin and mutilated innocence. 

     Salem's silver-blue eyes hovered in front of my swimming vision, glittering with death and shining with sadistic desire. 

* * *

      _I close my eyes but the vision does not leave. Instead, I feel the cold of steel against my wrists, frigid air on my naked body, warmth known only from the blood that oozes down my skin. Salem steps closer to me, a feral grin stamped on her features._

_"Why so sorrowful, nightingale?" she asks, Marjolaine's words in Salem's harsh, Ferelden accent. "Why do you gaze at me with fear instead of love?"_

_"You...you are not real." I whisper; I **beg.**_

_"Am I not?" she smiles. "Did you not see me? Lost to my hatred, awash with vengeance? You may have stopped me from exacting my torment on Howe, but this does not mean you are forgiven."_

_"Wha..." my voice catches, breaks, "...what does it mean?"_

_She leans in close, tracing my cheek with frigid fingers that smell like blood._

_"It means that in sparing Howe...you have brought his torment upon yourself."_

_Cold...sharp...the scent of burned flesh fills the air as Salem pours molten metal on the back of my neck, letting it trace its way across my naked flesh..._

* * *

     "Leliana." I felt a warm hand; heard a voice, thick with worry. "Leliana, come back. Come back to me, dear heart."

     "S...Salem?" I asked, bewildered. 

      _What...where am I? What is happening?_

     "It is I." she assured me, threading our fingers together, warming me with her touch. "Can you stand?"

     I looked into her eyes; deep color edged with concern and...love. Ever-present love. 

     "I...I think so."

     Salem squeezed my hands and helped me to my feet, steadying my body with her own. 

     "We are freeing Anora and getting out of here." she spoke to the others. "If we meet with any more of Howe's men, send them to the Black City."

     Wynne and Morrigan took the lead. Salem followed behind them, half-carrying me. 

      _I am so sorry,_ I felt my heart falter with self-loathing.  _I am more a hindrance than a help._

     As if she sensed my thoughts, Salem drew me closer to her. 

      _How?_ I wondered.  _How can you care for one who is crippling your mission at every turn? How can you not revile me for my weakness?_

"You...you came back." I whispered, awe in my voice. 

     "Always." she could not hide the grief in her words. 

      _But for what do you grieve? My pain? Your lost vengeance? I do not know any longer._

     The sounds of battle echoed from further ahead and Salem tensed, anxious to help the mages, but unwilling to leave my side. The skirmish ended with a flash of light and Morrigan's derisive laughter. Salem relaxed and I berated myself in the silence of my thoughts. 

     "None of that, Leliana." Salem smiled down at me. "We found what we came for. This is but the aftermath. Keep strong, dear heart. We are almost through this."

      _But will you be there at the end, when I am no longer weak, and you can feel free to hate me?_

 

 


	13. The Choices We Make

**Salem**

     _Hold on,_ I begged Leliana with my mind, afraid to shatter her with the words.  _Hold on. The end is near. Together, later, I promise, I **swear,** we will be able to collapse, weep, share each other's anguish and mend each other's wounds. I will not fail you, dear heart. You have saved my life and my soul; I will not hold the breaking of your promise against you. Stay strong. _

     On impulse, I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple, a silent prayer for forgiveness and, I hoped, an assurance that all would be well between us. That no irreparable damage had been done. She gave me a quizzical look, eyes filled with fear, shoulders bunched and neck knotted with tension. 

      _Maker's breath..._ the lines of tears stood out in stark relief on her pale skin, but she did not even seem to notice them. I did, however, and every salted streak on her face was a wound in my spirit and a scar on my heart.  _...I should never have brought you with me, Leliana. I swear, if I had known what would transpire this night, I would have made you remain behind. Although,_ I smiled, _you would have fought against that with every breath._

     Wynne and Morrigan rejoined us and I raked them with critical eyes, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw no injuries. 

     "Well?" I asked. 

     Morrigan answered with a catty smile. "You have spent too much time in the company of the buffoon. The Circle mage and I have fended off our own enemies long before there existed a stalwart warden to charge into battle alongside us. You need not think us helpless without you."

     "I would not dream of it." I replied, deadpan. 

     Wynne said nothing, but moved her gaze from me to Leliana, raising her eyebrows in an unvoiced query. 

      _Is she all right?_

     I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. I did not know, but dear Maker, how I wished I did. 

     "How many were there?" I asked the witch, attempting to calculate how many men Howe might have left to block our escape. 

     "Four, five, 'tis unimportant by now. They rest with the Maker, or sleep with the fishes, or whatever they believe happens at the cessation of life." Morrigan waved a dismissive hand. "You needn't worry, warden."

      _This entire plan has gone to hell,_ my disgruntled mind muttered.  _And you have the gall to tell me I needn't worry? My lover is in anguish and my mind is split a thousand different directions. It will not be long until I splinter away from conscious thought and fade to a blackness darker than night. First, however, I must gain Anora's support, and that can only be garnered by freeing her._

     We continued moving through the estate, unassailed. After what seemed an eternity, we emerged once more into the main hall. We made our way to the door, Morrigan at our front, Wynne at our back, keeping watch lest more guards arrive. My injured arm burned and my right hand began to tremble. The cut was deep, but I had more pressing concerns. 

     "Well?" I asked Morrigan as she extended a glowing hand towards the door. 

     "The seal is gone." she confirmed. 

     One look at Leliana, and I knew she was so shaken she could scarcely remember her own name, let alone how to pick a lock. I shifted my support of her to Wynne, hoping that my touch was not too rough and my manner not overly dismissive. 

     I lifted my leg and kicked in the door, gritting my teeth as the vibration jarred my injured arm. A muffled, feminine shriek greeted me as the lock snapped under the force. The door swung open and Anora, my former girlhood friend, stared at me in disbelief before rushing into my arms.

     "Salem!" her voice and body sagged with relief. "Salem, I cannot believe it is you! How...did...what..."

     "Howe's mages are dead." I pushed her away. 

     This was not the time for such familiarity. I could not risk springing the trap that had most certainly been set for us before I got the others to safety. 

     "And the man himself?" Anora asked, eyes narrowing with the cunning she had always possessed, yet always managed to keep hidden from those who had no need of seeing it. 

     "What do you think?" I snarled. "We need to move, now. Erlina is waiting for you outside the gates. You will be safe with Arl Eamon."

     "Thank you, Salem,  _bless_ you." she emphasized as we walked towards the maind door of the estate, speed being more required than stealth. "My father has gone mad. As soon as I made a decision as queen that disagreed with his, he named himself Regent and had Howe imprison me. It was a miracle that Erlina managed to find me, moreso that she found you...a...a Grey Warden. I would never have..."

     "We can speak later." I quickened my pace, feeling as though death were on my heels. 

     The queen fell silent as we entered the foyer. The clattering of armored men echoed across the stones as we reached the center. I drew my swords as soldiers rushed into the room from all sides. Wynne, Morrigan, Leliana, and Anora edged closer to the door, the mages protecting the bard and the queen with threatening, outstretched staffs. 

     "Lower your weapons!" a bark echoed through the room in a voice I remembered. 

     A tall, swarthy woman emerged from the throng of Howe's guards, leering at me. 

      _Ser Cauthrien._

     I recognized her. A knight so fierce, so tenacious, so utterly dedicated to Anora's father that she had been given the title "Loghain's Mabari." A gargantuan blade, nearly as tall as she, rested easily in her hands. The Summer Sword. It was rumored that even the strongest of men would falter if they attempted to wield it. I had faced it in combat...Cauthrien was not an enemy to trifle with. 

     "Keep her safe!" I shouted to Wynne and Morrigan, trusting the senior enchanter, at least, to understand. 

     Cauthrien laughed. "Keep her safe?" she asked, raising an elegant eyebrow. "The queen is quite safe, warden. Of that, you can rest assured."

      _I know that full well, you unctuous bitch. Anora is not my concern. This,_ I surveyed the room, taking in the thirty or so armed and armored men,  _is your trap, Loghain? Very well. We shall see how this play ends._

    "Keep your sword still, Ser Cauthrien." I replied, keeping my voice calm. "We can sort this out peaceably."

     Another laugh as the knight shook her head. "I am afraid those are not my orders. Though Regent Loghain is not the monster you would paint him to be. You have two choices, Cousland. If you should attempt to secure your escape by force, I will take you and all of your companions captive, including the queen. Should you lay down your weapons and surrender, you alone will be taken into custody."

      _We have a chance,_ I thought, keeping my swords at the ready.  _Leliana is in no condition...she cannot fight. But, between Morrigan's fire, Wynne's lightning, and my swords, we stand a chance of surviving..._

     I looking into my lover's eyes. They were wide, frantic...screaming. There would be no debate, I knew then. My choice had been made. 

      _We are too greatly outnumbered. And if we should lose, she would be...no. No. **No.** I will see you unscarred, dear heart. No hand shall mar you again. Not if I can stand in its way. _

     I raised my blades out in front of me, watching Wynne and Morrigan lift their staffs, preparing their spells. I stayed them with a minute shake of my head. 

     "Let them go." I opened my fingers, letting my swords crash to the ground in a clatter of steel. 

      _Maker, protect them._

     "I surrender."

     Sharp pain lanced through my skull and my legs gave out...Cauthrien laughing...an opened door...

     " _Salem, **no!** "_

...a heartbroken cry...


	14. The Anguish that Gnaws

**Leliana**

    "She. Did.  _ **What?** " _Alistair thundered. 

     I cowered away from his voice, remembering his words from the last time we were in Denerim. Words he had spoken when Salem's life had been in danger. Words that kept proving true, in spite of how much I wished them not to be so. 

      _This...her...it's you, Leliana. You hurt her. And you let her get hurt._

     "Keep your calm." Eamon rested his hand on the warden's shoulder, sounding every bit the concerned father. "There is little we can do at the moment, but I will survey our options in regards to diplimatic measures."

     The entire room went cold. Helplessness hung in the air, thickening it, making it difficult to breathe. All I could think of was the clatter of chains in Val Royeaux, the cruel laughter of the guards who dragged me through the fetid halls. Who stripped my clothes off and pressed me against the walls, rough hands roving over my skin.

     "Will..." my voice, which had returned to me in that horrific moment when one of Howe's men had slammed the hilt of his sword against Salem's skull, quavered, "...will they..."

      _Will they torture her? Will they take from her as they took from me? Maker, please no. I have known that hell; I have endured that torment. Please, such a thing is not for her. Has her body not been broken enough already? Has her soul not already been sundered by ungentle storms?_

     "Salem is a noble of Ferelden." Eamon understood the question I could not finish. "It is against all laws set down to...torture...one of the nobility."

     "'Tis a shame then," Morrigan quipped, "that her title has been stripped from her by those who took power." The witch's keen, amber eyes ripped into Eamon. "Or did you forget that delicious morsel of information? She is no noble in their eyes, simply twice the traitor, a Grey Warden guilty of regicide."

      _I know the punishment for treason._ Blood drained from my face and the room grew dark at the edges.  _I know it...all too well. It is written into my body. Salem...how could you be so foolish! **How could you do this!?**_

     Cold sweat broke out on my forehead and I struggled to breathe as the room began twisting. Panic tightened my throat and I swayed on my feet. A strong, warm arm wrapped around my waist, steadying my balance and shoring me up. I looked into Wynne's watery blue eyes, my heart breaking as I saw them surge with sympathy. 

     "Eamon, you have to do  _something!_ " Alistair pleaded, at loose ends. 

     The rest of our companions remained quiet, standing aside from the battle of wills and emotions. I wished, for a moment, that I could stand with them, that the woman I had just lost was simply the warden. 

     It could not be so. Salem was my own heart, my truth, my faith...my  _love_. I could not feign ignorance; could not pretend callousness. The one thing that was pure, that was mine, had been cruelly torn away from me...by Salem's own hand. 

     "Alistair, my hands are tied." Eamon attempted to reason with the younger man, whom he had once considered his son. "The most I could do is petition her release, but you know that will fall on deaf ears." Alistair opened his mouth and Eamon stayed him with a glare. "I will do  _what I can_."

      _It will not be enough. Loghain has her now, and he will never let her go. Maker above...he will **slaughter** her._  

     "Come, child." Wynne bade me as Eamon left for his office. 

     I followed, mute, body beginning to tremble once more.  _Salem, why?_ I wondered.  _Why did you surrender; why did you give yourself up? We could have defeated them...we could have won. Surely. We have taken down dragons, Flemeth...a force that size would have been as nothing._

     The senior enchanter led me into my room...the one I shared with Salem. Burrow trotted up to me, tongue lolling out, tail wagging, his head moving back and forth, searching for his mistress. 

     I knelt down and took the dog's massive head in my hands. "She isn't here." I whispered, all my grief pouring out into the words. "She isn't _here_."

     The mabari backed away from me as though I had struck him, his one ear flat, his head lowered. A keening, sorrowful wail issued from Burrow's throat and I felt my own tears flowing down my face. Wynne ushered the howling dog from the room and instructed a servant to take him to Eamon's kennel. At least there he could mourn in his way without disturbing the household. 

     I watched the mabari be led away, wanting to be with him, under a wide, forgiving sky where I could split my lungs with screaming. 

     "She's gone, Wynne." I said, unable to keep silent, unable to internalize this as I had done with much of my pain. "I cannot believe...she is simply...gone..."

     Wynne's weathered hand rested on my brow. "You have endured quite a trial." her tone gave me faint reminders of my mother, of Cecile. It warmed me. "You need to rest, Leliana."

     I shook my head, vehement. "I cannot rest." I began pacing. "For all his good intent, we know that Eamon will be able to do nothing. Alistair cannot jeopardize his standing at the Landsmeet. Morrigan could be captured by templars, should she attempt..."

     "What are you talking about, child?" Wynne interrupted. 

     My line of thought broken, I stared at the healer. "Salem, of course. I have to go back. Wynne, I have to get her out of those dungeons. There is no other way."

      _By now, her body is probably too broken to attempt escape. Foolish, heedless, selfless **idiot!** Why did you not even  **try** to fight!?_ 

     "You will do no such thing." Wynne's maternal instinct fled. 

     She stepped closer to me and became the right hand of the First Enchanter. Her entire demeanor changed to one of command and I realized once again that I stood before one of the most powerful mages in the land. 

     "Leliana, my dear, I do so hate to bring this to the forefront of your thoughts, but walking into that dungeon nearly fragmented your mind. It is a miracle that Salem pulled you from thence with your sanity intact."

    "I know that!" I raised my voice. "Every damned moment we were there, I knew I was endangering all of you. I  _failed;_ of that I am most  _bitterly_ aware. It will not happen again. Not with her life hanging, so very precariously, in the balance."

      _You do not know, Wynne. You do not know of the testament written into my body. You do not know of the nights spent shivering in anguish, wracked with fear and fever. You do not comprehend the slowing of your breath, not because your body is giving out, but because your mind is disintegrating into the murk of a despair so hideous there is no word for it. You have not felt the knives and flesh of wicked men against your skin, damaging, cutting, eating away at body and soul with every touch._

"Is this what Salem would wish?" Wynne asked, lowering her tone. "Do you believe she would desire that you endanger your life and your sanity on some ill-planned, hare-brained rescue attempt?"

      _No...but she is not here to have a say in the matter. She. Is. **Gone.**_

"That scarcely matters." 

     "It matters." Wynne said, matter-of-fact. "It matters to me. Do you remember her last command, Leliana?"

      _I do not...only her surrender...and that curious smile._

     I shook my head, afraid of what Wynne might tell me. 

     The healer looked me directly in the eyes. "The warden said, 'keep her safe'."

     "And we did." I responded, confused. "Anora is..." Realization slapped me across the face. "No." the word emerged as a whimper. "Wynne... _no_." a sob.  _  
_

_Salem meant those words for **me.** She told Wynne and Morrigan to protect me...because she knew I could not fight...and Cauthrien's terms dictated that if we resisted, all would be taken. Salem,_ dim pain registered as I collapsed to my knees, weeping, no longer able to stand,  _you **smiled** when they struck you. You smiled because you knew I would be safe. You smiled because you knew that your skin alone would be broken, your mind alone tormented. You smiled because you kept me from reliving that hell. _

     I clenched my fists as tears continued to roll down my face. But I would not crumble like a child. I rose to my feet. 

     "Damn her arrogance." I allowed myself to feel anger, to wrap myself in its strength. 

      _How dare you take this burden on yourself, Salem? Any other, **any** other I would have permitted you to shoulder, but this is a horror I would wish on  **no one.** Not even my enemy. _

     "I am going, Wynne."

     I turned on my heel to leave the room, blocked at the door by a shield of magic. 

     "What do you think you are doing?" I asked. 

     "Keeping a promise to a friend." the ever-implacable healer replied. "You are  _exhausted,_ Leliana, physically, mentally, and emotionally. If you...if  _any_ of us were to attempt a rescue now, we would do the warden more harm than good. I am certain that Morrigan is having this exact conversation with Alistair as we speak...and the implications of that are fair disastrous."

     I did not smile, at my end with others steering my life in directions I did not wish to go. 

     "Let me out, Wynne."

     "No." she replied, walking towards me. 

     I rested my hand on the hilt of my dagger. "I will warn you, once." I said, granting her more mercy than I had given many others. 

     Wynne lifted a blue, glowing hand. Her face was full of...regret?

     "Sleep." she ordered, and the blue glow flew from her hand and whispered into my body. 

     My eyelids fluttered and I felt myself falling to the floor. Wynne caught me, supporting me. She cradled me to her chest and smoothed her hand through my hair as my mother had done, once. 

     "Forgive me, Leliana."

     As magic swallowed me whole, I could remember but one thing. 

      _Salem, prone on the floor of Howe's estate, watching me depart...that **ridiculous** smile on her face. _


	15. The Joy in Torture

**Salem**

    I had woken shortly after the blow to the head. It had not been harsh, more a show of force to terrify my companions than anything else. I did not care. They were safe. Leliana was safe. 

     Cauthrien's men stripped my armor off of my body with thick, groping hands. They dug their fingers into my joints, bruising my skin, attempting to make me show discomfort, pain, or fear. I would not give them the satisfaction. Not when they struck me across the face, or kicked me until I got to my feet, only for them to shove me to the floor once again. 

     Displeased with my progress, Cauthrien herself fisted her hand in my hair and dragged me across the floor to an empty room, smaller than the one in which I had killed Howe, but filled with the same implements of torture. Cauthrien shoved me against the wall and gestured to her men with a nod. 

     The lifted a set of chains from the floor, unlocking the shackles. I saw the pointed spikes inside the cuffs and resigned myself. Cauthrien pulled a dagger from her belt and used it to cut my shirt off, leaving me to shiver in the dank, chill air. I stood quiet, calm, allowing her to do what she did for me. Time was precious. And I would pay for Leliana's escape in blood. 

     Cauthrien's eyes widened as she took in the scars that littered my body. 

     "How you have been successful thus far is a mystery to me, Cousland." she stepped back with a condescending sneer. "Scars like those litter the bodies of those who do not know victory."

     A heavy hand snapped one of the shackles around my wrist and I gritted my teeth as the spikes within it pierced my flesh. Warm blood began to trickle down my arm. 

     "I've never lost, Cauthrien." I smiled and saw fury light her dark eyes. 

     She took the other shackle, slammed my free wrist against the wall, and snapped the cuff around it with a vicious movement. I did nothing more than close my eyes as I adjusted to the pain and the warm wash of blood across my skin. 

      Disgusted, Cauthrien moved back, standing beneath a torch. She jerked her chin at one of her men...little more than a boy. He walked to her and she whispered an order in his ear. He stiffened before walking to the table at the other end of the room. He lifted a sharp, wicked blade and walked to me, refusing to look me in the eye as he set the blade against my skin. 

      _Damn you, Cauthrien,_ I glared at the woman,  _he's a **child!**_

     "You will find it easier to hold the knife  _so_." I tilted my head at the correct angle, smiling as the young soldier's hand trembled. "It slides in effortlessly and fillets the skin without severing the nerves. It is much more effective if pain is your intent, not simply damage."

     The young man with bashful brown eyes turned away from me, hand going to this throat as he dry heaved. Cauthrien frowned, hate flooding into her eyes. She placed her hand on the boy's shoulder and thrust him from the room. 

     "Recruiting those with weak stomachs?" I asked, watching the young man depart. "I am amazed that Howe and Loghain's objectives were ever achieved if all their men are of that same caliber."

     Cauthrien walked to me, reached back, and struck me across the face with her gauntleted hand. Metal broke skin. My lip split, my gums were cut, and I spat blood into the knight's face. 

     "Consider that a gift." I spoke around the pain, unwilling to let her believe she had hurt me. "At least now you have some noble blood."

     "You high-born  _bitch._ " Cauthrien kept her tones even, as she had been trained to do. 

     Another strike cracked across my opposite cheek. Blood slid down my chin as my lip split in another place. Pain ricocheted through my skull and I sagged against the chains that held me, wincing as the spikes in my skin pierced deeper. 

      _I must upset her balance, destroy her calm. One crack in her armor and I can work to shatter it entirely._

     Cauthrien smiled as she examined the wound in my right bicep. She undid the bandaging and tossed the poultice onto the ground. 

     "Oh dear." she murmured, moving back and looking me in the eye. "This wound is quite nasty, Cousland. The hands that tended to it obviously cared little for your life. It needs cleaning, or else infection will set in."

     She smiled, kneeling to the ground, running her fingers across the stone floors, gathering a sick layer of filth I did not even want defined. She rose and examined the thick sludge on her glove, nodding in approval before smearing it into the gash in my arm. 

     A low growl ripped from my throat, but I allowed myself no further reaction. My stoicism seemed but to infuriate her more. 

     "What sort of abomination are you?" she asked. "Do you not feel pain like a human being, or has the taint in your blood stripped that sense from you?"

     "You will not unsettle me with insults." I informed her. "My strength is not so weak that mere words from  _your_ lips can break it. But how your honor must be suffering, Cauthrien. A would-be knight playing at torture? Under Ferelden law, the imprisonment and torture of a noble is expressly forbidden."

     "The title you were  _born_ with has been stripped." Cauthrien's teeth glinted in the firelight. "At least mine was  _earned_."

     "So you say." I allowed. "I have heard how you  _earned_ your title," a careful, constructed pause, " _polishing_ Loghain's sword." _  
_

Cauthrien discarded her gauntlets, wrapped my hair around her fist and jerked my neck back, rendering my body motionless. Her free hand took the knife the boy had dropped, and she smiled.

     I gasped as ice entered my skin, as Cauthrien carved a deft line into my body, starting at my side and moving upwards, outlining her cut along the base of my ribcage. Every now and again her wrist would twitch, angling the blade into my bone. Once again, I gritted my teeth, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of hearing me scream. 

     "You will find, Cousland," she growled into my ear, "that I am much more adroit with a blade than Howe's lackeys. That boy will be punished for his inability to follow orders and wring confession from a traitor, but you will know agony, even if I must stain my hands with your filthy, tainted blood."

     She jerked the knife from my body. My breath came in halting gasps as blood sheeted down my skin. 

     "What...confession?" I panted. 

     "Teyrn Howe was found chained in this dungeon, throat slit, gut punctured, and his tongue  _half-severed._ Tell me, Cousland, what part did killing him play in the warden's scheme?"

     The knight moved away from me, crossing to a roaring fire. She withdrew a glowing, red, iron spike. I kept my silence, knowing that whatever words crossed my lips would damn me, were they professions of guilt or innocence. 

     "Speak, warden." she encouraged, "If you do, I will give you the courtesy of cauterizing your wound."

     I smirked as my head began pounding. "Howe's death was at my hands, a personal vengeance, as it were. The warden order had nothing to do with it."

     "Do not," her voice cracked against the stone like a whip, " _lie_ to me."

     I looked into her eyes, saw fear flicker there as she witnessed her mortality in my gaze. She recovered rapidly, blinking several times before bringing the glowing spike close to my wound, threatening me. 

     "That is not the tale I have heard from Regent Loghain." she smiled, collected, austere, impenetrable. 

     "Loghain," I braced for the pain I knew would come, "is a liar."

     Cauthrien eased the burning spike into the tear she had made in my skin, inching it further and further into my body. Unable to withstand the pain, I screamed. The scent of charred flesh caught in my mouth. Tears came unbidden to my eyes and streaked down my cheeks. 

     At last, Loghain's most loyal knight pulled the spike away, holding it affectionately. I saw pieces of my flesh sticking to it and the stench of burned skin and blood made my throat tighten. 

     "Perhaps that loosened your tongue?" she hypothesized. "Or will the Cousland's vaunted nobility shine through in their last, damned daughter? Please say you are unbroken, Salem. I should very much enjoy the pleasure of shattering you."

      _Shattering me?_ I snickered even as I sagged against the chains, puncturing my wrists deeper as I did so. Blood trickled down my arms, shoulder, and waist. 

      _You think these attempts at torture will break me? You could walk this world for eternity and not know the sum of my tribulations. I have traveled through hell, dragon-fire, and death. I have been blinded...I have watched the one I love walk away from me...you know nothing of agony._

_Leliana, please be safe. Please, do not worry for me. I will return to you. I swear it. I have come too far now to relinquish hope._

"I...am...unbroken." I managed to speak.

     Cauthrien tensed and I felt her fury set the room aflame. She called for her soldiers and five entered the room, awaiting orders. Their eyes were gleaming with the lust for violence, I could sense their desperation to cause pain. 

     "This is Teyrn Howe's murderer." Cauthrien pointed an accusatory finger. "Unchain her, and do not stay your hands until she is a hairsbreadth from the Maker's side."

     Jarring laughter filled the room as the men stripped off their heavy armor, leaving on their gauntlets and boots in the interest of breaking skin and bones. Cauthrien edged close to me.

     "Be thankful," she whispered, "that I am also a woman. I will spare you the ravages of these dogs."

      _Bitch._ "You are...too kind."

     A key emerged in Cauthrien's hand and she unlocked the chains that bound me. The spikes ripped out of my skin and a heated wash of fresh blood ran down my arms. I fell to my knees, staring at the holes in my skin, feeling the cauterized wound in my body burn. 

     I heard the footsteps of soldiers surrounding me, their laughter, their taunts, their rage. I waited, knowing what would come. The moment I moved, a frenzy of blows rained down on me, slamming me to the floor. I curled into myself, shielding my body as best I could. Pain exploded across my skin radiating through my bones. 

     The onslaught did not cease. I gritted my teeth and screamed through the endless assault. But I forced the knowledge of pain away, forgetting the cracking of ribs and the splitting of skin as I faded into myself. I focused on memories of shining blue eyes, of gentle, calloused fingers caressing my scars. The jeers and taunts of the gaurds were replaced with the sounds of her musical laughter. 

      _Leliana..._ I smiled, even as blood poured from my newly broken nose. 

     Black danced before my vision and Cauthrien's yell sounded so very far away. "Stop!"

     Immediately, my body stilled, no longer tossed about by men bent on twisted justice. I had no knowledge of pain, not yet. That would come soon enough. 

     "Find her a cell where we can reconsider her reticence." the knight ordered. "The prisoner is to be given no food and no water. Perhaps, when tomorrow arrives, she will see our position, and her own, in a new light."

     Two guard slung my arms across their shoulders, hoisting me to my feet. I was forced to lean on them, knowing I could not walk. Blood dripped from my face and my chest felt so heavy...even shallow inhales were excruciating. 

      _Broken ribs, broken nose..._ I abandoned the cataloging of my injuries. I had no healer to go to, no lover to bind my wounds. 

      _Maker, keep them safe._ I prayed again, for the thousandth time. 

     The guards began to drag me away when Cauthrien stopped them. She walked around me, surveying the damage done, and laughing. She enjoyed the moment; gloried in a noble brought low. 

     "What is it, Ser Cauthrien?" one of the guards asked.

     "Something is missing." the knight replied. Her fingers snapped. "Forgive me, warden, as I am remiss in my duties. Let me extend an offer of kindness."

     With those words, Cauthrien pulled a knife and laid it against my shoulder. I could sense her smile as she applied pressure to the blade and opened two deep lines across my back, an "x" from one shoulder to its opposite hip. I wanted to scream, to cry out, but could not find the breath. Instead, tears vaulted over my eyes and mingled with the blood on my face. 

     "The fresh blood will draw the rats." Cauthrien leered. "Not all the creatures in Howe's dungeons need go hungry tonight."


	16. The Truth in Dreams

**Leliana**

_The room is dark. It is the sort of darkness you can touch, the black that reaches out for you with an untender caress. It is the darkness that once, I was part and parcel with. It is the darkness in which I sang the song of death._

_I walk forward, uncertain of where I am going, knowing only that a dim candle gutters in the distance. It is the sole speck of light I can see in this place...wherever it may be. The air is chill, weighty, as though something of great importance is soon to happen._

_"Wynne?" I call out._

_Perhaps she is here. After all, she was the last to see me._

_"Wynne, are you there?" No answer. My heart beats faster and a spark of hope strikes through me._

_**Perhaps I am not alone. Maker, please, let my call be returned.**_

      _"S...Salem?"_

_"No, no." a voice I have prayed never to hear again. "They are not here, my pretty thing. We are alone."_

_Marjolaine emerges from the shadows, her pale skin gleaming in the dim light of the candle. Her burgundy lips glisten as she smiles, the smile which had always undone me, made a servant of me...in the past._

_"W..." I back away, ill-at-ease, knowing she is dead. I saw Salem pierce her heart. "...why are you here?"_

_"For you, of course." she laughs and it echoes through the room like a ballad. "Dear, dear Leliana. We have too long been separated. You should know I always return for what is mine."_

_"You are dead." I tell her, finding that in my avoidance of her, I have backed against a wall. I reach out, seeking for an avenue of escape, and something rattles._

_The dim glow of the candle illuminates my surroundings, and I see the shadows of chains._

_**No. NO! Not this, Marjolaine! Anything but this!**_

_"Not here, sweet nightingale." Marjolaine's eyes sharpen to green steel. "Here, I can finish what I started, so very long ago. You should have died in the dungeons of Val Royeaux. Our tawdry little affair should have been finished then. Instead...well...here we are."_

_**Please, let this be ended! Wake up, Leliana. You are dreaming, wake UP!**_

_"Marjolaine, no..."_

_My once lover, the woman I held as she died, reaches out for me, intending to bind my hands and exact her vengeance. I turn my head and swallow, anticipating the frigidity of her touch...it does not come._

_"By the old gods and their vices!" Marjolaine swears, a heated string of Common and Orlesian tongue. "I should have known. You vapid little cur." she glares at me, her hand still outstretched._

_My arm is within her reach, but something is holding her back, keeping her malicious fingers at bay. No matter how she strains, how she tries, she cannot lay her hand on me._

_"I..." I shrink against the wall. "I do not understand."_

_"It would appear that I cannot touch you." Marjolaine snarls. "Not even here, where I still have flesh and breath and bone."_

_"She is no longer yours, Marjolaine, either to love or to damage." a rough voice, hewn from a land soaked in blood. It is a voice that holds nothing but comfort and care; an anchor in every storm._

_**Salem.**_

_My warden walks to me and stands by my side, her presence a rock in this strange world where the dead have returned to life. She stands in front of Marjolaine, protecting me from her in this dream as she protected me in life._

_"Warden," my bard-master sneers. "I seem to recall killing you."_

_Salem smiles, a confident quirk of lips that belies a dragon's heart. "It did not take."_

_Marjolaine shrugs her shoulders and turns her attention to me._

_"You know why I am here, do you not, my pretty thing?"_

_I nod my head, understanding. Having failed to ruin me in the waking world, Marjolaine has come to my dreams to exact her vengeance._

_**I want to awaken. Maker, please, hear my plea, deliver me from this!**_

_"Do what you will." my voice trembles, but the only escape from this dream is to walk through whatever hell it may hold._

_Marjolaine's laugh echoes once more and I reach out to Salem, taking her hand in mine and squeezing it, bidding her a farewell. I extend my hand and my bard-master reaches out for it. I cringe, anticipating the cruelty of her touch, the curve of her fingers like a serpent's embrace._

_"No." Salem's hand takes mine, lowering it. She steps between me and Marjolaine, commanding, authoritative, a noble and a warden. "She does not belong to you, Marjolaine." Salem speaks._

_"This is not your place, warden." Marjolaine warns her._

_"My place is standing before whatever would cause Leliana harm." Salem places her other hand in Marjolaine's. "My place is protecting the ones I love."_

_"Love?" Marjolaine scoffs. "Love, warden? The vacuous chit behind you has no mind for such things as love. She could never understand it, comprehend it, **use** it."_

_"Love is not meant to be used." Salem growls. I feel the fury pouring from her, aimed at Marjolaine. "Now sate your soul, drink your fill of my blood, and leave her in peace."_

_I watch the only two women who have ever held my heart stand toe to toe, each awaiting the other's action. Marjolaine shoves Salem against the wall and chains her wrist. My warden does not resist; simply stands there as Marjolaine rips the shirt from her body, leaving her skin an open canvas._

_Salem looks at me and smiles. It is a smile that says everything...everything she says to me in person and displays in her actions._

_**I love you. I would give anything for you. I will never use you. I will walk into hell and surrender myself to your nightmares to keep you safe. **_

_"Watch, my pretty thing." Marjolaine urges. "Examine your warden's weakness. She lets herself be taken. She lets herself be abused. You are stronger than she, Leliana. Why would you tie yourself to this?"_

_"Think what you will." Salem speaks and does not flinch as Marjolaine carves into her skin, along the muscles of her neck, down between her breasts. "It is of no consequence. You are dead and can no longer harm her. Not even here."_

_Furious, Marjolaine lifts her blade and plunges it between my lover's ribs. Salem gasps as the knife is pulled from her body and inserted again and again in strikes that grow more angry and wrathful. Salem's body sags as blood streams from her wounds, spilling onto the ground. Marjolaine steps back, spattered with Salem's blood, her eyes struck with a maleficent glee._

_I rush to my warden, feeling Marjolaine try to claw me away, but her hands cannot touch me. I look into my lover's eyes, feeling tears in my own. My hands rove over her body, trying to stop the blood, but there is simply too much damage._

_"Salem." I whisper, tracing her strong, high cheekbone with a trembling hand. "Salem, why?"_

_"This..." her voice is thick with pain, her lips flecked with blood, "...this is...the only way...I know...to love. Please...dearest heart...tell me...is it enough?"_

_"It is more." I sob, closing my eyes, unable to watch the life drain out of her...unable to see the wounds in her body that should have belonged to me._

* * *

     I woke with a gasp, trembling with the intensity of the dream. Sweat and tears mingled on my face and I brushed it away, angry. 

      _If sacrifice is your manner of love, Salem,_ I thought, getting to my feet and strapping on my daggers, hiding more weapons of my trade in my clothing,  _then I will love you in the way that is mine._

     I stole from my room, avoiding the guards of Eamon's estate. The arl had given Anora shelter here. The woman was the reason Salem had been taken and, queen or not, she would answer to  _me._

      _I have too long acted the quiet, diminutive sister of the Chantry. I have concealed myself out of a fear I cannot now afford. No longer. I will make the shadows dance; bring down gods and queens and regents._

     A sinister smile crept across my face as I eased Anora's door open. 

      _It is time this bard pens a new tale,_ a thin garrote wire sang in my hands,  _even if I must ink it with blood._

 


	17. The Kindness Life Demands

**Salem**

    Sharp pain woke me, a relentless burning in my ear. Against the shell of it, I felt tickling, like a feather brushed against the skin. I tried to open my eyes, but only one obeyed. 

      _Swollen shut,_ I realized, and groaned. I had drunk my fill of blindness, and even though I knew that, eventually, the swelling would go down, I was not pleased. 

     The pain in my ear continued, harsh, stabbing, searing. I could hear the slice of sharp teeth in the skin and I lifted my hand. My nerves screamed, my muscles spasmed, and I abandoned the movement. 

      _Not worth...the effort._

     I relaxed against the stone, ignoring the burning sensation in my ear as the pain continued. The severe beating I had suffered began to make itself known. Every minute movement revealed the knowledge of cracked bones and deep bruising. Every beat of my heart sent agony pulsing through me and I gritted my teeth, feeling the pressure of small claws on my back. 

     The hinges of my cell screamed and I let out a long breath. It was time. Time for the torture to begin again, time for Loghain's men to attempt to draw their truth out of my skin and through my blood. 

     "Maker's breath." a kind voice intruded and the pain in my ear diminished. I heard a muffled squeak and a wet snapping of bone. "There you go. Milady, I...I am going to move you now. I apologize for the discomfort."

     I felt strong hands on my body, lifting me and turning me over. I hissed as the deep lacerations across my back were pressed against the cold stone of the floor. Heat flared from the gash on my arm, sweat broke out on my forehead and I cursed Howe's dead body. 

      _It's infected,_ I thought of the filth that Cauthrien had smeared in the wound.  _I feel feverish...and they are expecting the illness to loosen my tongue. Damn them to hell!_

     A callused, gentle hand cradled the back of my neck and lifted my head. 

     "Drink, quickly." the hand held a waterskin to my lips. As I drank, the words continued. "I killed the rat. It was eating your ear."

     I chuckled at the ridiculous misery of the situation and I winced as my ribs ached. I did not know how many of them had been cracked or broken by the ruthless assault of Cauthrien's soldiers. It did not matter. I would not betray the truths that I knew. I would never answer their questions. 

     I opened my one eye to see the one who had chosen to defy orders and provide me at least a little comfort. I did not recognize the strong features of his face, but I looked into his eyes and realization struck. 

      _Kind brown eyes...it is the young soldier whom Cauthrien drove from the room._

     "You..." my voice sounded labored, heavy, and thick, but I needed to speak. His eyes were blackened, his lip split...part of Cauthrien's punishment, no doubt. "...you should...not be...here."

     "I have a few moments before I must return to my post." he whispered, lifting the waterskin once more. 

     His eyes darkened as some of the water spilled from my split, slack lips. He lifted the waterskin and poured some on my heated brow, cooling it. I sighed with the momentary relief. 

     "You are the only person I have seen who could damage Ser Cauthrien's composure." he said. "I wanted to thank you...I cannot abide that bitch. I wish there was more I could do but...but I am no healer."

      _He is...so young. Why is he here?  What cruelty put a sword in his hand?_

     "You...should not...have been harmed." I told him, coughing a little. 

     I hoped he would understand the regret inside my words. I had not meant for him to be punished. I had simply meant to crawl under Cauthrien's skin and nestle there until she went mad. But it was the innocents who would suffer for the madness of the nobility. 

     "Please..." I tried to breathe deep and failed, "...forgive me."

     "It is of no importance." he stated, trying to cover his misgivings with bravery, to shield his pain from someone he thought worthy of admiration. "Were I not beaten for this, I would be beaten for another transgression. It is Howe's way. I am from Amaranthine, milady. My...my family could not pay our taxes, so Howe indentured me to his service as repayment."

      _Damn that man. Even dead he is still cruel to his people. How was this overlooked for so many years? How did...how did we fall this far? Ferelden was enslaved for so long...how could we become what we fought Orlais to escape?_

     "Howe...is dead." I told the young man. 

     He nodded and eased my head back to the ground, preparing to leave. Once again I felt cool water against my heated brow. 

     "I know." he sounded bitter; I could not see his face. "It matters very little. Cauthrien has been grooming herself for his position...now she is taking full advantage of the situation. If she can wring a confession from you, she is certain that Loghain will give her Amaranthine. I'm expected back at my post. I wish...I wish I could be more of a help, warden."

      _What gives those of noble blood the right to do such horrible things to those who look to us for protection? This is a sin. I must...I must rectify what has been done to this young man._ _  
_

"Teyrna." I corrected him.

      _Damn Howe. Damn Loghain. Damn all of the **fucking** nobles. I will see that justice is done. I will see this country made whole, beginning now._  

     "I...am...Teyrna Cousland." the title felt uncomfortable on my lips. "You are...hereby...freed of your servitude. Go home."

     He looked at me, eyes wide with hope and terror co-mingled. "Can...are you able to do that?"

     "I am the sole noble in this estate." I struggled to breathe. "There are none who can overrule me." I coughed and pain spiked through my broken ribs. The ache in my head intensified. "Finish your duties. Leave here. Go," my vision blurred and the room spun, even though I had not moved, "to the estate...of Arl Eamon. He will...aid your escape. Here," I extended my right hand the hopeful boy took it, "the ring...on my finger. Take it. It is the signet...of House Cousland. Eamon will...draw up papers...releasing you."

     He slid the ring from my finger and grasped it as though it were a rope, and he suspended over a precipiece. I felt weaker than I had in my entire life, no matter the injury or illness. If this were my last action...it pleased me that it would be one of kindness. 

     "Thank... _thank you,_ milady." he breathed, sliding the ring onto his own finger. "Maker bless you and keep you safe."

     "Do me...one favor." I begged, finding it more difficult to breathe. "At...Eamon's estate...there is a woman. Beautiful. Orlesian. She has...red hair. Tell her...tell her that...that I am all right. Please."

     "Of course." he nodded, eager. "I will."

     He fled my cell and I laid my head back, soaking in the temperature of the stone floor. I felt as though someone had lit a fire beneath my skin. Every movement brought agony, my lungs rustled when I breathed. I could feel distant call of delirium, the thrum of infection in my veins...I had felt like this before...once. 

      _The night I lost my life. The night I drowned in my own blood. Maker, please, see that boy safely out of this hell. Let at least once innocent return home unscarred._

     Harsh, metallic footfalls rang against the stone and the door of my cell swung open once more. 

     "Awake at last?" Cauthrien's grating voice. "How are you feeling, warden?"

     "Fit." I answered, determined to remain strong. "Bring me an archdemon and I will slay it, without exertion."

     "Hmmmm." Cauthrien strode around my prone body, hand on her chin, tapping her lips with a single finger. "You don't look well at all, my dear. I had hoped that the time spent in agony and the fever in your blood would loosen your tongue. You are far too stubborn, Cousland."

     "What do you want of me?" I asked. "What is this 'confession'?"

     I coughed again, forcing myself onto my side so that I could breathe. The cuts on my back cracked and I felt blood oozing down my over-heated skin. The broken bones in my chest grated against each other and I pinched my eyes closed, swallowing down a scream. 

     "Tell me, Cousland, how are you controlling the darkspawn?"

     " _What?_ " I asked, still lucid enough to wonder at the ludicrousness of her question. 

     "Do not," Cauthrien warned me with a light kick to my already broken ribs; the scab on my torso cracked, "play coy with me, warden! This information is  _vital_ to the safety of Ferelden. If you care for your country at all, I suggest you surrender it!" _  
_

"You've gone mad." I managed, unable to catch my breath.

     "Tell me!" Cauthrien roared. "Or I swear to you, I will make your stay here vastly more unpleasant."

     "There is...a Blight." I whispered. "An archdemon. The wardens are not...controlling the darkspawn. You fucking...fool."

     "Lies!" Cauthrien shrieked, kneeling and glaring at me. A knife trembled in her hand. "Tell me the truth."

     "That... _is_...the truth." I stressed. 

     Cauthrien brought the knife down, driving the blade between the bones of my hand. I screamed and my back arched off of the ground as I thrashed, causing my ribs to grind together once more. This time, however, Cauthrien did not laugh at my pain. 

      _She is...breaking me...for her own advancement. She desires Howe's title, his lands, his nobility, as little as that was worth. But...these accusations...are from a madman's mouth._

Cauthrien rose and began pacing, leaving her knife embedded in my hand. I tried to lift my other hand, to withdraw the knife, but my body would not obey my commands. 

     "This trouble started when the wardens were allowed to enter Ferelden. How could you, a noble, join with those who would undo this country and bring us back under the  _iron grip of Orlais!?_ "

     "Loghain,"  _how much will I regret this?_ "is deceiving you, Cauthrien. He's gone mad."

     Her scream of rage echoed off of the stones. The armored, pointed tip of her boot crashed into my abdomen and I screamed as the flesh was torn. Another kick to my left thigh sent waves of black across my one working eye. Another followed to the same location and a ragged cry peeled from my lips. 

     "I'll see you dead, Cousland." she hissed, and the tip of her boot collided with my temple...


	18. The Sweet Lies She Tells Me

**Leliana**

    I eased open the door to Anora's room, examining my surroundings. There were tapestries on the wall, ancient legends sewn into cloth. I smiled as I saw the stories I had memorized and dazzled audiences with. The bed in the room was untouched; the queen sat before the fire, staring into the flames, her long, golden hair flowing down her back. 

      _This will be all too easy,_ I smirked. 

     My bare feet did not make a sound on the stone floors. I crept up behind the queen, spindling the garrote between my fingers. I looped it around her neck, knowing the metal was too thin to be noticed. 

     "Good evening, your majesty." I pulled the wire tight, enjoying Anora's gasp of surprise. 

      _It appears I have not lost my touch after all._

     Anora's fingers reached for the thin, sharp metal against her throat. 

     "Who are you?" her voice shook, but only a little. 

     "I am the Nightingale." I answered, choosing the name that meant dark things, that  _did_ dark things. "The warden you allowed to be taken happens to be a friend to me."

      _More, so much more, but to reveal that is to give her the advantage._

     "And," I continued, edging my voice with malice, "as I hear the tale woven, she was once a friend to  _you_."

     "What do you want?" Anora's shoulders tightened, but her fingers dropped as she accepted that she had been well and fully captured. 

     "I want to know  _why_ you did not speak in her defense, Anora." I replied, tightening the garrote nearly enough to break skin. "I want to know why you did not stay Cauthrien's men. One word from you, and all of us could have gone free."

     "I...I was frightened." the queen confessed, but there lay only the vaguest of truths in her tone. 

     "That is  _no_ excuse." I hissed, though my own thoughts condemned me for my anger. 

      _I, too, trembled with fear, so much that my daggers were rendered useless and any support I could have provided Salem and the others was erased. I was beginning to lose my sanity._

     "My own father  _imprisoned_ me." Anora claimed. "If I spoke in defense of the warden, he would take my head and he has enough support to do so, unchallenged."

     "How am I to know that you were, in fact, imprisoned?" I asked, loosening the garrote and scissoring it across her neck in slow, sweeping motions. "Am I to simply take you at your word?"

     "Salem was my...my friend." Anora's voice cracked. "I did not know that she was the warden my father sought for so doggedly. Had I felt that she would be aided by my intervention, believe me, Mistress Nightingale, I would have done so. Alas, my own father locked me in Howe's estate with no reason other than citing my 'safety' as his intent."

     "You had no knowledge of the trap or the conditions given Salem Cousland by Ser Cauthrien?" I pressed my inquires, even though I began to believe her. 

     I had been lied to many a time. I knew the signs, the subtle inflections, the false bravado. Anora displayed none of it. She was being as honest as she was able. 

     "None." she answered. I removed the garrote and heard a sigh of relief. "I have been sitting before this fire, wracking my mind. There is nothing I can do for her, now. My father no longer listens to me. Even though...even though she sacrificed herself for my safety...I can give her nothing in return."

     I sat down next to her; saw the firelight glinting off the tears in her eyes. "Make amends in a different manner." I whispered, taking full advantage of the situation. "Take Salem's side in the Landsmeet. You are queen of Ferelden. Your word still carries weight. Make that your repayment."

     She turned her gaze to mine. "I will consider it, Mistress Nightingale." she answered, a diplomat born. 

      _You will **consider** it?_  My temper flared. 

     "You will more than consider it, Queen Anora. You  _will_ back the wardens and Eamon in the Landsmeet."

     Anora stood and I followed the motion, unwilling to be dictated to or intimidated. 

     "I am the  _queen_!" she hissed. "Who in  _hell_ do you presume to be?"

     "I am the woman who held your life in my hands not moments ago." I smiled, keeping her eyes on mine as I drew a dgger and pressed it against her stomach. "And gave it back to you, without a price. You owe me now, Anora. You  _will_ support Salem, you  _will_ denounce your father, or you _will_ suffer."

     Anora paled as she looked down and saw the blade against her skin. "This is treason." she whispered. 

     "I am not of Ferelden." I smiled. "I do not answer to her laws, nor bow to a weak queen who would let her mad father dethrone her with such ease. Give me your word, Anora, for what little it is worth."

     Her face contorted as though she had a bitter taste in her mouth. "You have it." she relented. 

     "Do  _not_ betray that oath." I cautioned her as I sheathed my blade and made to leave the room. "I am not a woman crossed without repercussions."

     "You do not know what you are playing at." Anora whispered a threat, her claws extended now that my blade was no longer a threat. 

     I looked back at her, over my shoulder. "I have toppled kings with a rhyming couplet, your majesty. I do not  _play_ , as you say, at anything. Dream sweetly, Anora."

     I closed the door behind me and began to walk back to my room. Alistair stood in front of my door, knocking at it like a madman. I cleared my throat and he turned to look at me. His eyes were alight. 

     "Leliana, you have to come, quickly." urgency painted his voice. 

     My heart caught in my throat.  _Has something changed? Was Eamon able to do anything?_

     "Alistair, is everything all right?"

     "We have news." he wrapped his hand around my arm and nearly wrenched out of its socket as he dragged me down the stairs and into Eamon's library. 

     The arl sat behind his desk, scratching on parchment. When he was finished, he placed a small brass cauldron, filled with wax, into a holder. He lit the candle beneath it, and waited. A young man stood anxiously in front of the desk, shifting his weight from foot to foot, glancing around as though he expected the walls to close in on him. 

     "What has happened?" I asked, worried. 

     The young man turned and looked at me. His eyes had been blackened; his lip was cut. 

     "Is this her?" he asked Alistair. 

     The Grey Warden nodded and the young man turned from Eamon's desk. He walked to me and extended his hand. I clasped it, as one soldier would another, somewhat confused by the greeting. 

     "My name is Rowan, Rowan Varel, from Amaranthine." he said, stumbling over his words, so quickly did he speak them. "I was an indentured servant of Teyrn Howe."

     My heart began to race.  _What is a member of Howe's house doing here...so late at night...and beaten?_

     "And?" I could scarcely form the simple word. 

     "I...I have news. Of the warde...of Teyrna Cousland." he amended, as though one title were dearer to him than the other. 

     Alistair looked at me, saw that my breath was held, my mouth unable to move. I could not speak or form words. My heart was too full, too frightened, too desperate. 

     "Go on." Alistair bade Rowan. 

     "She told me to come here." he rambled, foregoing breath in the interest of words. "To find Arl Eamon and have him draw up the proper documents for my release. She gave me this." 

     He pressed Salem's signet ring into my hand. I clutched it, unconsciously holding it close to my heart. It felt so cold...so cold compared to the warmth of the hand that wore it. The hand that stoked a fire in my veins and heated my blood. 

      _Is she all right? Is she alive? If she is alive, is she well? Please, Maker, tell me **something!**_

     "That sounds quite like her." I smiled, straining not to take him by the shoulders, throttle him, and demand information.

     "She gave me a message for you, milady." his tone darkened.

     I lifted my eyes, searching his gaze. "Yes?"

     "She said..." he sought for his courage, and found it. "She said to inform you that she is all right."

 My heart sank into depths darker than it had ventured in some time.

    _I do not believe you because I have seen Salem stabbed, poisoned, and blinded, proclaiming to me and all the world that she is all right._

"T...thank you." I smiled, handing him back the ring that would secure his freedom. 

      _Trust Salem to be noble, to save and help others, even in the most extreme of circumstances._

     "See that, Leliana?" Alistair sounded like a giddy child at Yule. "Salem sent word. She is all right."

     I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. It was Salem's most familiar gesture, and I wanted her to be here, to be with me. I could not imagine her locked in a dungeon, suffering the same torments and tortures that I had endured. I could not bear the thought that she had chosen such a fate willingly...in order to save me. 

     "I do not believe him." I whispered. 

      _I wonder how many of her bones are broken. How much blood she has lost. What...what has been stolen from her._

     Arl Eamon pressed a folded parchment into Rowan's hands. The young man thanked him profusely and made to depart. I walked to him and grasped his arm, looking into him with icy eyes. 

     "Rowan," I spoke his name, keeping his gaze on mine, "how is she, in truth?"

     His brown eyes filled with worry, the fear of disappointing Salem, the woman who had given him what he most desired. 

     "You can tell me." I assauged him. "She will not fault you for it."

     He lowered his gaze and a knot of fear twisted in my belly. "She's not well, milady. Ser Cauthrien had her viciously beaten. There are few outward wounds but...but she is burning with fever and bleeding inside her body. I fear...I fear the knight will kill her, given enough encouragement."

      _Maker's blood._

     "Thank you." I choked out before my fear could consume me. "Now go. Be well. Take your freedom."

     Rowan Varel left the estate, seeking his new life...a life given to him by my warden. My warden whose body was being broken in Howe's dungeons. My lover who was dying. 

     I turned on my heel and dashed to my room, Alistair following close behind. 

     "Leliana," he gasped for breath, clinging to the doorway, watching me lace my boots, grab my bow, and sling my quiver over my shoulder. "What are you doing?"

     "I am sick with waiting." I set the string on my bow, preparing for battle. "I will not stand idly by while Salem is methodically  _slaughtered_. Now," I placed my hand on his chest, "you may accompany me if you wish. If not, I  _will_ subdue you, gag you, and leave you locked in that closet to ensure your silence."

     His eyes widened. "Allow me to procure my sword." he said, backing away. 

     I waited for him at the door of my room, wringing my hands, Rowan's words playing through my mind over and over again. 

      _...she is burning with fever and bleeding inside her body..._

     I bit down the tears that wished to fall. 

     "Keep strong, my love." I whispered my intent to the Maker and the world. "I am coming for you."


	19. The Burden of My Blood

**Salem**

    "She has remained remarkably stubborn, my lord." Cauthrien's acidic, obsequious tones grated against my ears. "While I am loathe to disturb your rest, I thought it better that you...encourage her...to speak the truth. Perhaps she will show less reticence when you reveal to her the razor edge of the truth."

     "Excellent work, Ser Cauthrien." Loghain smiled, walking around me in a contemplative circle. "I see that my most loyal has not spared the lash. Tell me, Salem, why do you still deny what you know to be the truth."

     My blurry vision adjusted to the torchlight. I wished it had not done so when I looked at the triumphant glee in Loghain's dark, flat eyes. Cauthrien's men had dragged me from my cell not moments after I had regained consciousness. They had let my knees be bruised on the cold stone floors when I could no longer remain on my feet. I had blacked out when we had reached our destination. 

     I looked away from Loghain, glancing up, seeing my arms stretched out above me, wrists locked in chains. My feet were suspended a precious inch above the floor. I felt as though my own weight were crushing my chest. Every inhale was a war. 

     "Have you convinced yourself of your own lies, Loghian." I asked in return. 

     The self-appointed regent stood before me, hate swirling in his fathomless black eyes. 

     "No more than a deluded,  _stupid_ girl would let herself be grievously wounded in order to pretend honesty. Tell me, Warden Cousland, who made the incisions on your body? Maric's bastard? That devious mischief-monger Duncan? Or you, yourself?"

     I held my head high.  _Father, I hope that you can see me from the Maker's side. I hope that I am making you proud. Please, lend me your strength in the face of this barbaric insanity. I am not certain...how much more...I can endure._

     Everything hurt past the point of feeling the individual injury. My body burned with fever, and dried blood covered the skin that I could see. In some places the blood was not visible, so dark was the mottled bruising that covered my skin. 

     "These scars..." a difficult breath, "were incurred...at the hands of darkspawn...at the Tower of Ishal... _after_...I lit the beacon."

     " _ **Blasphemy!** " _Loghain shouted, sending flecks of spittle across my face. He looked off somewhere that I could not see. "Do it."

     I braced myself as the distinctive snap of leather filled the room. Pain ruptured through my body as the whip struck and the glass and nails woved into the leather stuck to the tender flesh of my bruised back. I waited, trembling, gritting my teeth in preparation. The whip ripped out of my back and my body thrashed even though it hung suspended in the air. Blood spilled from the wound and trailed down my back, buttocks, and legs. 

     I bit my lip until it, too, bled. I was unwilling to scream in Loghain's presence. The man had deluded himself, chasing after a power that no one wished him to possess. When my father would not take the crown, the people chose Maric Theirin, anything...any bloodline but a Mac Tir's on a throne. This...this was the reason. His rule would be no better for Ferelden than that of the Empress of Orlais. 

     "When...blasphemy...becomes truth," I panted, "what then?"

     Loghain stripped his gauntlet and struck me across the face with it. The world went dark and blood filled my mouth. 

     "Coward." I spat the blood onto his armor, much as I had done with Cauthrien. "Can you not even...strike me...with your own hand?"

     "As if I would mutilate my flesh with your tainted blood." Loghain sneered. "Now  _tell_ me the  _ **truth!**_ Why have the wardens awakened the darkspawn? Why have you gathered an alliance of our enemies?"

     "Enemies?" I lifted an eyebrow...even that small movement brought pain. 

     "The Dalish, the mages, the dwarves...you have even converted one of Ferelden's own to your treachery. Do you think I do not know, warden? Do you think I do not see?"

     I gathered the strength to speak. "There is nothing to see but what has been before your eyes this entire time. A  _fucking **Blight.** " _

     "Lies!" Loghain yelled, throwing up his hand.

     The whip cracked, stuck, and was wrenched out again...thrice more. I clenched my hands into fists, biting back my screams, holding my breath, praying for an unconsciousness that did not come. My body swayed from the chains like a bleeding pendulum. I could hear blood dripping onto the floor. My breath shuddered out between my lips as I jerked and shuddered with pain. 

      _Soon,_ I whispered words of hope to myself,  _soon this will be ended. I will be back in the arms of the one I love. The Blight will be finished. Blood will be shed, tears will be cried, but healing will begin. These moments will be relegated to the realm of the forgotten._

I traced my bard's face in the enclosure of my mind, where none could venture, a fortress that none could break into, not with slander, not with threats, whips, or torture. 

      _I know you will come for me, Leliana. I only regret...that you must return...to this place that brings you nightmares. Please forgive me my inability to escape._

"Warden!" Loghain's voice jarred me back to my inescapable reality. "Speak the truth before me and all of Ferelden! Recant this tale of a Blight! Lay bare the warden's falsehoods! Say 'this Blight is a lie' and earn your freedom! Five words, Cousland. Five excruciatingly simple words, and I will deliver you to Arl Eamon and your companions, healed."

     I watched him with my one working eye. Pain was my entire existence. Pain was all I knew, all I thought of, all that defined me. Thoughts of escape seemed the foolish dream of an idealistic child. I would not leave this pain. Unless...

      _It would be so easy._ I thought.  _Simple, as he said. Just say them, Salem. Say them, and end this. Go back to Leliana, wrap yourself in her embrace. Press on with the mission. Ferelden will understand the warden's truths soon enough. You need not defend what will, without fail, transpire._

I looked at Loghain, his hand at the ready, almost eager to signal whoever held the whip. 

      _I cannot do it. To do such a thing...it is not **who I am.** I am a Grey Warden, a noble of Ferelden, and I will not capitulate before a madman's rantings. I will  **not** damn the country that I love in order to end my personal torment. _

     "No."

     The whip cracked again, three more times. At last, I broke. I screamed through the room, even though I knew it stamped satisfaction on Loghain's face. I screamed until the pain faded to a dull roar and then hung on my chains, struggling to breathe. I could feel torn strips of skin dangling off of my back, brushing against my body as I swayed. 

     "You see what she is doing, do you not?" Loghain spread his hands wide, addressing Cauthrien and the guards. "She is trying to  _deceive_ you. Only a  _fool_ would not have accepted that offer. I would have given you clemency; I would have let you  _go free!_ Instead, you choose to hang here, enduring torture!  _This_ ," he pointed to my broken, blood-slick body, " _this_ is the level of the warden's depracity! She is so convinced of her agenda that she will endure what no  _sane person **could**!"_  

     "Or," my voice was thick, wet, rasping, "is it that I...am defending...the truth?" 

     I looked up at Cauthrien, daring her to believe me. She had thought a confrontation with Loghain would wring  _his_ truth from my mouth. It would not be so. I would not surrender. I would not give Loghain the satisfaction of victory. 

     Loghain marched to the fire burning in the room, drawing from its coals a glowing hot poker, much like the one Cauthrien had used on the wound she gave me. I swung from the chains, awaiting whatever cruelty would come next. 

     "Tell me that you see the truth, warden." Loghain growled, holding the poker dangerously close to my eyes. "Tell me that you see, or have your sight forever stricken from you."

     I closed my eyes and laughed, ignoring the heat against my face and the intent behind Loghain's words. 

     "Do as you will." I smiled. "It will not...be the first time."

      _If I must sacrifice my sight again, so be it. I know I will still be able to fight; will find the strength to forge ahead. This will not break me, Loghain. Nothing will._

     I felt the searing heat against my eyelid; waited for the intense pain sure to come when Loghain pushed the poker through my eye itself. 

     "Your lordship!" the clatter of armored feet, alarm in a stranger's voice. "Your lordship, we must depart! The estate has been set aflame!"

     I smirked as the poker clattered to the ground. 

     "Cauthrien!" Loghain bellowed. "Rally the men! We are under attack!"

     "Yes, your lordship." the knight answered, but with a new tone in her voice...one of...hesitancy, doubt. 

     They left and I sagged against the chains, screaming again as the muscles in my shoulders were strained beyond their limits. Tears slid down my face, but they were not shed for pain. 

      _They're here._  My thoughts sang.  _At last, they've come back for me._


	20. The Horrors Willingly Re-Visited

**Leliana**

    I took a deep breath, began running, and leapt over the alleyway below to the waiting rooftop beyond. My feet touched without a sound and I straightened, breathing softly, even though the clanking armor of the patrol beneath me would not hear a harsher exahle. I looked back at the silhouette of a very reluctant Grey Warden and beckoned him with a movement of my hand. 

     The shadow shook his head, squared his shoulders, began running, and took the leap, landing improperly, falling and rolling to a stop in front of me. Alistair lay flat on his back, gasping for air. 

     "Keep silent." I hissed. "We are attempting to  _evade_ detection, not encourage it."

     He staggered to his feet, gasping, bending over and resting his hands on his knees until breath came more easily. 

     "It was  _your_ idea to crawl across rooftops like some sort of deranged spider!" he shouted in a whisper. 

     "Loghain has patrols crisscrossing the streets." I argued. "We'll do Salem no good if we, too, are captured. I know that you know this, so do not cost me time by whimpering like a child."

     I looked across the way, determining my path. The rooftop just beyond the one I stood on would offer me the clearest view of Howe's estate. I smiled and jerked my chin to signal my intentions to Alistair. He eyed the distance and blanched, swallowing hard. 

     "I'm a warden, not an acrobat." he grumbled, but he followed after me as I leapt from one rooftop to the next. 

      Another soft landing for me, another loud one for him, and we crept to the edge of the roof. I was pleased that the building we stood on directly adjoined the wall to Howe's estate. I could simply drop into the courtyard and need not worry about scaling a wall. 

      I surveyed the area, noting the pattern of the three two-man patrols. In addition to the six roving guards, two were posted at each outside entrance, with four guarding the main doors. The side entrance that Erlina had led us to earlier was still the best way inside, as the front wall of the main estate obscured it from view, out of the eyes of the moving patrols. 

      _Two guards. Easily handled._

     I smiled and pulled two arrows from my quiver, nocking them against the bowstring. I pulled back on the string, setting the arrows on opposite sides of my fist, aiming down into the courtyard. Alistair came to my side. 

     "Ca...can you make that shot?" he wondered, cocking his head at an angle, trying to sight them in as I had. 

     "Do you want to rush in and slaughter them, screaming and yelling all the while?" I countered, exhaling and taking aim. 

     "I could serve as a distraction." Alistair replied. "Make the guards leave their posts."

      "Sometimes, Alistair," a tiny grin quirked my lips, "the sweetest song is silence. Have you a flint?"

     Alistair's brow creased. "Of course." he answered. "Why?"

     My smile widened as I gauged the speed of the wind and the direction that it blew from. 

       _These poor, inept fools. They will not know from whence the storm has come, just that they are inexorably caught in it._

      "Take an arrow from my quiver and the rag and oil from my belt pouch. Howe has made a single, grave mistake."

      Alistair did as I asked, removing an arrow and the materials from my belt pouch. I waited until he moved from my side before releasing my arrows, satisfied as they both struck their targets in the throat. The guards crumpled to the ground and I began counting time in my mind, reaching for the arrow that Alistair handed me, an oil-soaked rag tied around the shaft, near the arrowhead. 

     "Nice shot." he said, pulling his flint and stone from his pocket. "What mistake are you referencing?"

      My grin became nothing less than bloodthirsty as I nocked the arrow against my bowstring. "He attached his stables directly to the main estate."

      "And?" Alistair had yet to catch my thoughts. 

      I sighed, but knew that the man had assessed himself correctly. He was a warrior, untrained in subterfuge, untutored in sneak attacks. And...he was noble, in both blood and demeanor. He would not consider putting innocent people or creatures at risk as a distraction when he himself could serve as one. 

      "Horses need straw." I answered, drawing back on my bow yet again. "Straw catches fire."

      "But...the horses." he murmured, shaking his head with regret. "Damn it. You're right."

      He struck the flint and the spark caught the oil-soaked rag, setting the arrow aflame. I aimed into the stable window and fired, laughing as smoke began to pour from the building and the screaming of the horses met my ears. 

      "Stay outside." I ordered Alistair. "Take out the guards as you can, _if_ you are spotted. Do not, Alistair,  _do not_ follow me, or I swear I will pull out your intestines and strangle you with them."

       _Salem would slaughter me if anything were to happen to you. Please, do not make me regret allowing you to accompany me._

      His eyes widened and he nodded in silent assent. Strange enough, he would only argue with Salem, but the templar-turned-warden was still uncertain of the rest of us. I prayed he knew that he could trust me...that I had but his and Salem's best interests at heart. 

      I entrusted my bow to him, knowing it would be useless in the coming battle. Alistair stared at it, a frustrated fury coming over his face. 

      "Bring her back." were his only words. 

     "I swear it."

      I dropped off of the roof and landed in the courtyard. I raced to the door I had cleared and opened it, dragging the bodies inside before closing the door and tracing my path to the dungeons, dodging the frightened servants who were racing for the stables. I heard the low rumble of thunder outside and I cursed. 

      _If that thunder brings rain with it, my time is cut further short. As soon as the danger from the fire is ended, then the guards will return to their posts and the distraction will be rendered useless. Damn it!_

      I reached the staircase that led to the dungeons and stopped short, halfway down. I caught my breath as the stench of blood and fear overwhelmed me. I steadied myself against the wall, clenching the hilts of my already drawn daggers. 

       _Breathe,_ I ordered myself.  _Focus. I cannot afford to drown in my nightmares once more. Not while Salem is in danger. Not when my time is so limited. Maker, give me strength. Clear my mind. Give me what I need in order to rescue her._

      I opened my eyes and evened my breathing, descending further into hell. The halls were clear, all guards having been dispatched to aid in the stamping out of the fire and guard against any attack that might come. 

      I heard the sound of armor clanking, multiple footsteps, and concealed myself in a shadowed doorway. A contingent of King's Guard passed by me, carrying torches, whose light glinted off an all-too-familiar silver armor. 

       _Loghain,_ I narrowed my eyes at the man's proud carriage and implacable demeanor.  _What is is doing here? Oh, Maker..._ my gut twisted and tightened into a burning knot of fear.  _Salem may not even be alive to rescue. If he is here, drawing breath...she is...no. No, Leliana. Do not harbor such thoughts. Salem is the strongest person I know. If any could survive this hell without aid...it would be **her**._

I slipped from the shadows and ran, straight into a giant clad in burgundy-washed armor. I struck first, using the imbalance from our initial impact to take the soldier to the ground. I had a knife to their throat, staring into their eyes, when realization dawned. 

       _You,_ I recognized the woman's face,  _you are the one who made Salem choose between casting us all down here or sacrificing her own life._

      "Go." Ser Cauthrien whispered, unconcerned with the blade at her throat. "The warden is not far. Find her before she's dead."

      Her words struck me off-balance, but I kept my dagger tight against her neck. 

       _This could be a ploy, a tactic to convince me to drop my guard. I will not do it._

      "Why?" I stressed, putting pressure on my blade, enough to break skin. "After what you did, what you've done, why would you help her?"

      Confusion crossed the knight's face. "In truth, I do not know. I only know that I do not wish her to die, and your time is short. Get off of me, and  _go to her_."

       _Not without the assurance that you will not follow._

      I speared my other dagger between the plates of her armor, into her gut. Her face contorted in pain and I withdrew my blade. 

       _I will not apologize for this. After all Salem has been forced to endure, I am giving you mercy, Cauthrien._

      I left her to bleed on the floor and dashed down the hallway, with but one thought in my mind. To save the woman I loved...if she could indeed be saved. 

       _Please, Salem, please. Be alive. Please._

      I turned more corners and evaded more guards. I slowed my steps as I approached a dimly lit room. Two guards stood at the door. I rushed them, slicing one's throat as I ducked under the sword of the other. I kicked the living one's legs out from under him and plunged my dagger down, into his side, through the weak points in his armor. He screamed and I placed my hand over his mouth until the light left his eyes. 

      I got to my feet, entered the room, and gasped. My lover hung above the floor, suspended from chains. Her body swayed back and forth, and she wore only dirty trousers. Blood streamed down her arms from the manacles around her wrists. I saw the sick, jagged wound on her left side, along the base of her ribcage, skin blackened by a cauterizing iron. 

      The chains twisted, her body rotated, and my lips parted in shock and horror. Her back had been ripped open by the whip. Shreds of skin hung down around her legs, dangling in the air, blood dripping off of them and puddling on the floor. I could see raw muscle through the chunks of missing flesh and I ran to her, twisting the chains, pressing my fingers to her neck, feeling the heat of her skin, but sighing in relief as I felt a weak pulse through her veins. 

      I forced myself to keep silent, but inside I wanted to wail, wanted to scream, wanted to lose myself in a raging frenzy and destroy those who had done this to her. I sheathed my blades and forced my hands to keep steady as I withdrew my lockpicks and turned my attention to the manacles that held her. 

      I fitted the picks into a lock and Salem lifted her head at the slight sound of metal against metal. Only one blackened eye opened, the other had swollen shut because the brigands had broken her nose...again. The white of her eye was stained red with blood, but her expression was one of relief and joy as she gazed at me. 

      Her bruised, split lips curved upwards in a half-smile. "Hello, beautiful."


	21. The Will to Live

**Salem**

   I could hear footsteps...coming closer. I wondered, dimly, if the alarm had passed, if my torturers had returned to steal what little life I had left within me. I tried to gather my courage, to build the will to resist. I did not know if I could do such a thing once more. 

      _Please,_ I begged whatever god would hear.  _Please, let this be a friendly hand, a kinder touch. I...I can take no more. No more skin split, no more blood lost, no more blows against my body. I...hurt too much._

      The footsteps grew closer and a wave of gentle energy coursed around me. My battered lips attempted to curve into a smile. My chains moved under what I knew were the most skilled of hands. I dragged my head up and forced my one working eye to open. Ocean eyes greeted me and my heart felt at ease. 

       _My savior. My future's promise._

      "Hello, beautiful." I managed to speak. 

      Leliana's skin was pale; her hands trembled as she picked the locks. My heart bled for her, even though my mind was preoccupied with my own pain. 

       _Damn me, yet again._ My fragmented conscious spoke.  _I never meant for you to see me...in this state._

      Worried, I forced myself to gather air. I forced myself to part my split, swollen lips, and ask. 

      "Are...you..." I coughed, "...all right?"

      Her eyes flashed to mine, anger quickly overwhelmed by grief. 

      "Hush, love." she whispered, and the locks holding my wrists gave way. 

      I collapsed to the floor, supported by Leliana as my legs gave out from under me. Her hands supported my shoulders and she propped me up, gently, keeping me on my knees, keeping me awake, away from full collapse. Her hand brushed my blood-matted hair back from my face. 

     "Salem. Salem, look at me." she urged. 

      _I want to rest._ My eyelids fluttered closed.  _Maker save me, I want to rest. So...very...tired._

      With great effort, I opened my eyes. My vision was blurry, fuzzing in and out, unable to focus on what I wanted most to see. 

      "Can you walk?" her voice trembled. I did not answer, trying to gather enough breath to speak. "Salem, can you walk?"

      "Try." I gasped. "I'll...try."

      "Good." she twisted, wrapping my arm about her shoulders. 

      Her arm braced against my back, the cloth of her shirt sticking to the raw, open wounds. I shrieked as the torn flesh protested. 

      "I know it is painful, love, I know." she comforted me. "Endure it, please. Just long enough. I'm going to stand now." she warned me. "Follow my movement, and I will take most of your weight."

       _This is not fair. How...how can I, who have failed you so many times, let you carry me out of the hell I brought you into? How do you forgive me, Leliana? Where do you find your strength?_

I shored my legs, begging them to hold me, as Leliana stood. My ribs grated together once more and I could not restrain another scream. Understanding my pain, Leliana did not tighten her grasp, as another might have. Instead, she supported me, gentle, until I could manage the incessant waves of agony. 

       _Focus on her touch,_ I willed myself.  _Force the pain to the back of your mind and **move.**_

I attempted to use her support as she moved. My body protested the further harsh treatment. Even shallow inhales were difficult. I felt as though I were drowning. We staggered down the empty hallways, Leliana moving her eyes back and forth, watching for enemies. Sweat broke out on my forehead, trickling down my face and into my eyes and cuts, stinging. I reached for what little strength I had as the world tilted and swerved in front of me. 

      "A little further, Salem." Leliana urged, increasing her speed. "There is a storm coming. once the rain extinguishes the fire, our time is finished."

      _Rain? Fire?_ Black swam at the edges of my already blurred vision.  _Too much...blood loss. Maker, please...if we are re-captured... **no.**_

      I shook my head, attempting to clear it, using the fierce ache between my temples as an escape from the pain that threatened to drag me into unconsciousness. I would not give in. I would not be a further burden. 

       _I will **not** let her share my fate. I will  **not** let her hands be chained. No harm will come to her. I have sworn it, and I  **refuse** to break my word._  

      "Leli..."  _I **must** endure,_  "...I...can move...faster."

      "Are you certain?" she asked, concern etched in every word. 

       _No._ "Yes."

      Leliana increased the length of her strides and I limped beside her, focusing on the strength of her body, ignoring my frayed nerves and the lacerations on my skin, the blood flowing down my legs from the lashes across my back. 

      At last, we approached the stairway out of the dungeon, thus far unassailed. Our luck was holding. 

       _But when,_ even my thoughts were breathless,  _when will it run out?_

      "Keep strong, my love." her voice brought me out of the murk of my thoughts. "We are almost through this trial. It will be over soon. You can rest then, I promise you."

      We ascended the stairs at an excruciating, slow pace. I could feel Leliana's urgency, her fear, blanketed by frustration and...guilt? 

       _She is...blaming herself..._ I realized, nearly brought to tears by the knowledge.  _She is taking responsibility for my imprisonment, my torture. Andraste's ass, Leliana. Why? Stop! No! **No!**_

      "Not...your...fault." I rasped as we reached the top of the stairs. 

      "Don't talk." her tone sounded harsh, but I saw her eyes, blinking rapidly, pushing back tears. "Conserve your strength, Salem."

       _I have no strength left, dear heart._ I smirked, feeling my lip split and begin to bleed once more.  _All that remains is you, your beauty, your strength. I need you, Leliana. More than anything else, in this moment, and in all moments, I need you._

      We rounded a corner and my world went white as a guard collided with us. I collapsed to the ground, and could not find the air to scream. I felt bone jar, flesh be pierced, dirt grind into the lacerations. I lay on the floor, gasping, forcing my eyes to remain open. 

      _No,_ I screamed between clenched teeth.  _No. We have come too far._

      I coughed and blood flooded my mouth. The right side of my chest felt as though it were being crushed under a stone. I could not take a full breath. I forced myself onto my left side, gasping as my raw flesh peeled off of the stone floor. I spat blood onto the ground before I choked on it and kept coughing, gasping for breath that would not fill my lungs. 

      From a great distance, I heard a scream, metal against stone, a life ended. Warm, merciful hands turned me over onto my back, frantically touching my face. 

      "Salem," Leliana's fingers trembled as she grazed my cheek, "Salem, love, breathe. Breathe, darling, please. Please breathe."

       _Can't..._ I struggled to force air into my lungs. My eyes closed, like a curtain on a play's final act.  _Forgive me._

      " _No!_ " Leliana shouted, pulling me up into her arms. " _Do not dare close your eyes on me, do not **dare!** "_

      _Let me be!_ My mind begged, but my heart pried open my eyes, gazing into her frantic, mirroring blue. 

      "Here." I managed to choke. "With...you."

      "A little further." she hoisted me up, dragging me to my feet. 

       _For you...anything._ I vowed, even though I wished to scream with every movement, even though I struggled to keep my eyes open, fought to keep my feet moving forward. 

      I commanded myself to move, my body craving air even as blood pooled in my lung and the edges of my broken bones grated against each other. The weight on my chest grew to be more than I could bear, but I moved forward, because I had reason to. We exited the estate, Leliana all but dragging me past the flame-drenched house, out, past the chaos, into the blissful, free streets of Denerim. 

      " _Alistair!"_ she screamed as thunder roared and the skies opened. " _Alistair, I need you **now!** "_ 

      Rain poured down, loosening the blood that had dried on my skin, washing it away. Alistair came running up to us, but stopped short as he saw me. Shock and horror were stamped on his features, his eyes wide with fear. Leliana's grip faltered and I stumbled, but Alistair was there to catch me and lift me in his arms. He winced as I screamed, but Leliana grasped his forearm, encouraging him to remain calm. 

      "Alistair, we have to get back to Arl Eamon's estate." Leliana urged. "She'll die if we don't."

      Smoke from the fire caught in my throat and I coughed, harsh and sharp and ragged. Blood spilled over my lips and down my chin. I looked at Leliana; the stark white of her skin, the unmitigated determination in her eyes. I squeezed her shoulder with what strength I had. My bard turned to me, afraid. 

      "Leli." I murmured, and her eyes flashed to mine. "I...love...you."


	22. The Hope that Falters

**Leliana**

    I began running when Eamon's estate came into view. It seemed I could not move fast enough as I sprinted past the guards and to the servant's entrance that led into the kitchens. Eamon's men gave chase, but when I threw open the door and the light from the house shone out, they recognized me and sheathed their weapons. 

     "Inform the arl that we have rescued Salem Cousland." I ordered them. "She's badly hurt."

      _She is dying. She is **dying** and time is moving too swiftly and I am useless and I need...I need...I need to act._  

     I did not bother to see if the guards had listened. I burst into the kitchens and commandeered a large oak table used for food preparation. I cleared it carlessly, not minding as platters and cups cracked on the ground in chips of glass and clay. I knew I looked like a feral creature out of an old tale. My hair was wet, clinging to my face. My clothes were stained with Salem's blood, and I had terrified the kitchen staff. 

     "Please," I struggled to keep my voice from shaking as I spoke to the head servant, a middle-aged man with kind eyes and black hair greying at the temples, "Teyrna Cousland has been injured. She requires immediate healing attention. I need bandages, boiled water, and bitter wine."

     The servant nodded. "It shall be done." he replied before turning to the staff and disseminating orders with a collectedness that I envied. 

     " _WYNNE!_ " A strained bellow echoed across the stone floors, in Alistair's voice. " _WYNNE, MORRIGAN, WE NEED YOU!_ "

     The warden staggered in, holding Salem in his arms. He saw me and brought Salem to the table I had cleared, setting her down as gently as possible, cradling her head until it rested on the ground. I heard several gasps of shock as the servants saw my lover's condition. 

     Alistair took a deep breath and parted his lips to call for the mages once again. I silenced him with a hand on his arm. 

     "They're on the upper floor." I told him, nausea bubbling in my throat as I saw that his clothes were stained scarlet with Salem's blood, much worse than my own garments. "They cannot hear you. Go and fetch them, now."

     Alistair's face was drawn, pale, and every line etched in his brow screamed of anguish. The man was the living definition of distraught. 

     "Leliana," his voice  _did_ tremble, "Leliana, she's still awake."

     "That..." my words cracked, "...that is a good sign, Alistair. Hurry."

      _She is still feeling everything. She must be in so much pain. I do not know how she is still alive. Oh, please, Maker, **please** let us save her.  **Please.**_

     Alistair left as Eamon's manservant approached, holding an oil lamp in each hand. He placed them on the table and his training in implacability broke as he saw Salem. 

     "If you need aid, I can send for Denerim's physician. He is no mage, but quite skilled..."

     "No, thank you." I said, perhaps too harsh in my fear. "But if you've any herbs to aid in healing on hand, we would be grateful."

     He nodded. "I will see to it at once."

     His footsteps were silent as he departed. My legs began to shake and I grasped the table, using it to keep upright as I felt the battle-fever leave my body. I wanted to retch until nothing remained in my stomach. The cloying scent of blood hung so heavy in the room I felt I would choke on it. 

     Salem's lips parted and a piteous moan crossed them. I could see the muscles in her arm fluttering beneath the skin and cursed as I realized she was shivering. She had already been burning with fever when I dragged her out of Howe's dungeons, and the rain had stolen the warmth from the evening. If she were to become too chilled, her condition would worsen further. 

     I pulled a small, sharp blade from my wrist sheath and sliced through her trousers. Salem needed warmth and Wynne needed to be able to work the moment she arrived. The sound of my blade ripping through the cloth made Salem's eyes open. She tried to lift her head and I placed a gentle, quivering hand on her shoulder. 

     "Lie still." I ordered. 

     "Do...what...you will...to me." Salem gasped, her voice deep, haggard, and so lacking strength that it terrified me. "But...don't touch...Leliana. She's...innocent."

     I strangled the sob that threatened to make my chest explode. Salem may have been awake, but she believed she was still in Howe's dungeons, and that my hands were those that had tortured her. I murmured comforting nonsense as I finished cutting her clothes away and removed them from her body. I threw the filthy, blood soaked material to the floor and pushed the table closer to the hearthfire. 

     Salem's lips were working back and forth, as though she were trying to form words. She did not have the strength to give voice to them. I placed a finger against her lips and she calmed, as though she were able to sense my touch. 

     "You are safe here." I told her. "You do not need to be strong. Let the pain take you under, my darling. Rest now."

     Inside my mind, I begged and pleaded. She did not need to remain awake for the healing. She was so very, very broken. I could find no part of her body that remained un-marred. Her ribs were bruised almost black; her chest rose and fell in jerking gasps. She had been cut on her left side, the wound beginning at her back and following along the base of her rib-cage, to her breast bone. 

     The wound had been cauterized, the skin blackened and charred by red-hot metal. I remembered the sensation all too well. Those who tortured, and who thrived from that torture, never wished those they held captive to lose consciousness. Cauterization stopped blood-loss while still inflicting unimaginable pain. The thought of Salem subjected to such horrors made me ill. 

     There were four matching wounds on her body: deep, triangular punctures. One to her right temple, one to the right side of her abdomen, and two on her left thigh. They oozed blood at a sluggish rate, but the bruising around them was so heavy and profound that I knew they were very deep. Her nose had been broken, her lower lip split in three places, and her cheeks bore several small wounds. I had seen a scale-mail gauntlet leave those sorts of injuries countless times. 

     I continued my examination, abstaining from looking at the strips of skin lying on the table, attached to her wounded back. I needed to ignore the evidence of her flogging for as long as possible. 

      _There is so much damage here,_ I thought.  _  
_

Ignoring the damage done to her back, for the time, I examined the wound left by Howe's sword. It was the worst visible injury, and the oldest. The edges of the deep, wide gash were tinged violet, and I could see angry streaks of bright red beneath the skin.

      _Maker's breath,_ I lifted a shaking, frightened hand to my open mouth,  _the wound is infected._ _  
_

I placed my hand over the gash, not touching it. I could still feel the heat emanating from the injury. I lifted one of the oil lamps to examine the wound further and I had to bite my lip to keep from groaning in anguish. Howe's sword had sheared through the muscle of her arm. If the infection could not be stopped and the muscles mended, Salem might be forced to lose her dominant limb.

      _Where is Wynne?_ My thoughts raced faster than I could track them.  _I cannot even begin to repair this level of damage. Where **is** she?_  **  
**

I felt a light touch at my elbow and flinched, turning to face Eamon's manservant. He set a folded sheet and a glass bottle on the table.

     "Bandaging, and the bitter wine you requested." he spoke, keeping his eyes averted from the wreck of Salem's body. "Arl Eamon has told me to inform you that you may ask for whatever you need, and it will be provided with alacrity."

      _Wynne. I need Wynne._

     "Thank you." my voice felt thick in my throat. 

     "The water is over the fire now. Is there anything else you may need?"

      _My sanity. I am losing my mind._

     "Not..." even looking at Salem tore me apart, "...not at the moment. Thank you again."

     He nodded and backed away, clearing the rest of the curious kitchen staff from the room. Their absence left a gaping maw of silence, filled only with Salem's weak, rasping breaths. My lips began to tremble and my eyes burned with unshed tears. I could not weep. Not now. Not when she needed me. 

     "Stay with me." I whispered, uncertain if she had slipped into unconsciousness. 

     I took her hand in mine and she hissed and turned her head away. I looked down, horrified as I saw the hole in Salem's flesh where her hand had been impaled by a blade. 

      _Who could do this?_ I wondered, horrified at the sight, though it could very easily have been the least of her injuries.  _Who could damage a warrior's hand; deprive them of their skill, strength, and coordination?_

     The sound of hurried footsteps greeted my ears and I looked up, almost fainting from relief when Wynne entered the room, rubbing grit from her eyes and running her hands through her loose white hair. She tied it back with a leather thong and her eyes fell from my face to Salem's body. 

     "Oh my dear Maker." she breathed and my heart hammered in my chest, spiralling fear deep into my bones. 

     Wynne rarely ever spoke of the Maker, or any god for that matter. The fact that she now called on a deity was enough to let me know that Salem's condition was worse...much worse...than what I could see. 

      _How could it possibly be worse?_

     Wynne pushed past me and moved to the warden, dropping her satchel on the floor. She held her hands out, suspended over Salem's body, and the blue glow of healing magic wisped around and into my lover's skin, relaying to Wynne the true extent of the damage. 

     Alistair came to stand beside me, and I could ascertain from his expression that he felt as helpless as I. We watched Wynne, holding our breath, waiting for her to tell us the truth. Morrigan slipped into the room, adjusting the rags that, for her, passed as clothing. The witch was never one to show emotion, but the unsubtle widening of her eyes when she looked at Salem spoke volumes. 

      _If Morrigan is afraid, then the situation is quite dire indeed._

     After what seemed an eternity, Wynne's hands lowered and her eyes lifted. A mask had settled over her eyes, and I remembered the last time I had seen it...in our camp outside Denerim, when she had come for me, to tell me that I needed to speak to my lover before Marjolaine's poison killed her. Her expression told me everything I had feared. 

     Salem was dying. 

     "How is she?" Alistair asked the question I did not wish to voice. 

     Wynne's lips thinned. "Bad." one word in a blank tone. 

     "Bad?" Alistair's composure fractured. " _Bad?_ Then do  _something!_ Wave your hands, chant a spell,  _ **anything!** " _

     "To do so at this moment, with no forethought, would  _kill_ her." Wynne snapped, and I took a step backward. 

     I had never heard Wynne raise her voice in anger, and to see that emotion on her lined, calm face damaged me more than finding Salem as I had. Wynne took the sheet that Eamon's manservant had brought and tossed it to Alistair. 

     "Bandages." Wynne quipped. "Now."

     Alistair pulled a knife from his belt and began cutting the thick linen into strips. I watched him do so, knowing that I needed to help, needed to do something, but unable to formulate a thought beyond Salem's prone body on the table. 

     "Morrigan," Wynne turned her attention to the witch. "I need you to work an enchantment. Chill the air around her body. She is burning with fever and still bleeding. The cold will help."

     Instead of an acidic reply, Morrigan closed her eyes, reached out towards the ground, and her lips began moving in the words of an arcane enchantment. Immediately, the air surrounding us cooled and I began to shiver. 

     "Leliana, I need your assistance." Wynne spoke. 

     I moved toward the table, terrified of everything, needing to know if Salem would be all right. I did not think she would be. Too much damage had been done. Too many wounds had been dealt...dealt her body for my sake. 

     "Help me move her onto her stomach." Wynne ordered. "Her back is the worst of it."

     "Wynne..."

     "There is  _no_ good news, Leliana." the healer anticipated my query. "That she still draws breath is a miracle and a mercy. Her entire body is...is wrong. Everywhere I sensed masses of ruptured veins beneath the skin. Infection is eating her alive. Her lungs and kidneys are bruised, her bones have multiple fractures..."

     "How many..."

     "Almost all." Wynne positioned my hands on Salem's torso. "We must hurry."

     The senior enchanter placed her hands under Salem's shoulders, her eyes carefully detached from her hands and from the warden's body. 

      _Salem is dear to all of us,_ I thought, a lump rising in my throat.  _Watching this is so painful...everyone is hurting. Even,_ I looked at Morrigan, who was still concentrating on her spell,  _even the most spiteful among us._

     Wynne locked eyes with me and nodded. We rolled Salem over and a muffled groan broke past the warden's lips, followed by a cough. A thick stream of blood dripped out of the corner of her mouth and I bit the inside of my cheek until it bled. 

     A closer examination of Salem's back made the blood drain from my face. Large chunks of flesh had been torn away. I could see the yellow of bone through the gaping holes in her skin. Where the flesh was missing, I saw twitching of her musculature.

     I had to close my eyes when Wynne grasped her sharp healer's blade and cut away the ruined strips of skin still attached to Salem's broken form. The healer mage's lips moved with whispered words of condolence, trying to impart strength. 

     "Keep strong, dear girl." Wynne murmured as she spread her hands over Salem's back. 

     A sheet of magic pulsed out from her fingertips, slamming into my lover's body. Salem went rigid and a wet, blood-curdling scream filled the room. I watched, amazed, as the ragged, ripped edges of muscle knitted together, as her blood clotted, leaving her back a sickening landscape of scabs. 

     The glow of magic faded from Wynne's hands and in the silence of the room I heard Alistair shredding the sheet for bandanges and the soft sound of weeping...Salem. 

      _Oh Maker...she felt...she felt all of that._

     Without thinking, I dove under the table, coming up on the other side, face to face with Salem. Her eyes were open, tears pouring from them. Her injured hand was curled, her fingernails gouging into the wood of the table. I reached up and touched her cheek with the barest glance of my fingertips. She flinched and I knew that she did not know who I was. She did not know what was happening, that we were trying to help her. All she knew was the pain.

     "Wynne, she's conscious." I breathed and Alistair swore under his breath. "She can feel everything."

      _Including the horrible agony that she undergoes when being healed by magic._

     "I can do nothing for that." Wynne's voice had calmed. The anger no longer lay there...simply the sorrow and the anxiety. "Help me move her, Leliana."

     I got to my feet and assissted Wynne in rolling Salem over to her back. My warden whimpered and her eyelids fluttered. I prayed that she would black out, that she would be spared the pain...but her eyes did not close. They remained open, full of terror, staring at the ceiling. Wynne pressed two of her fingertips to the pulse at Salem's neck and frowned.

     "What is it?" Alistair asked.

     "Her heart is beating much too fast." Wynne muttered. "And the chill in the air has done nothing to curb the fever. It is much too risky...damn it, Salem." Wynne cursed, shocking us all. "Was it not enough for the Maker to see your blood tainted? Must he also have made you nigh un-healable?"

      _I cannot endure this,_ I could hear my heart cracking.  _Salem is dying. She is dying in front of me and all assembled, with all our varied skills and abilities, seem **helpless.**_

     "She has lost too much blood." Wynne answered, rummaging in her satchel. "I cannot risk using much more magic until she is stable. In her current condition, the pain she experiences from healing magic will overload her heart and kill her. Alistair, I need you here."

      "What?" the warden questioned Wynne even as he walked to her. "What can I do?"

     "Salem needs blood, badly. One of her ribs has been broken and has scored her lung. I will have to cut her open, re-align the bone, and pray..." the senior enchanter paused, gathering her composure, "...pray that she can endure the magic needed to repair the injury."

     We all fell silent, taking onto our shoulders the gravity of her words. 

      _Please, Maker,_ I prayed, lacing my fingers through Salem's, hoping I did not cause her pain,  _she has survived all of this. Her family's massacre, the Joining, the arrows at Ishal, Marjolaine's poisoning, her blindness...this torture. Through all these trials, she has endured. Do not turn your face from her now. Give her strength, please, take anything from me that you will, but...Let. Her. Live._

     Wynne removed a hollow reed from her satchel. It had been sharpened at both ends. She took Alistair's arm and rolled up the sleeve of his drenched shirt until she exposed the crook of his elbow. She pulled the leather thong from her hair and tied it about Alistair's upper arm. 

     "What are you doing?" Alistair asked, blood draining from his face. 

     "You are the only other warden present." Wynne replied. "If any other were to share blood with Salem, her body would reject it and she would become very, very ill."

     "Share...blood?" Alistair questioned. "Is that even possible?"

     "Among more recent schools of healing." Wynne gave a reassuring smile that did nothing to ease the tension in the room. "I may be old, Alistair, but I am not one to turn away from something that can preserve life. Morrigan, if that spell is set, I need your assistance."

     The witch responded without argument and moved to the other side of the table, awaiting Wynne's instructions. Wynne lifted Salem's arm and guided Morrigan's hands into place, supporting it. The healer then inserted the sharpened end of the reed into Salem's vein. Blood oozed sluggishly from the wound. Wynne extended Alistair's arm and inserted the opposite end of the reed into his skin. 

     A small thread of healing magic wove around the wound in Alistair's arm and the reed and Wynne's mouth curved into something that was not quite a smile, but at least an expression of approval. 

     "Hold quite still, Alistair." Wynne cautioned. "And warn me if you begin to feel dizzy or lightheaded. Leliana, are you ready?"

      _No. No, Wynne, I am not. I want to crawl inside myself and die. This is my fault. Had I not been so tormented, had I not let my trauma overtake me, I could have fought, we could have prevented this._

_But Salem, ancient gods damn her, she...she knew. She knew and took all of our punishment upon herself. And all I see before me is the damage done to her body...I have no way of knowing if...if she experienced all of my torments._

     But I did not give voice to my thoughts. My love had given everything of herself for me. I needed to do the same. So I nodded, a quick jerk of my head that said more than I wanted it to, but all that I needed. 

     Wynne took up her sharpened healer's blade. She placed her left hand on Salem's right breast and lifted it upward, tightening the skin. She laid the blade at the base of Salem's breast and looked at me before she made the incision. 

     "Be strong." she told me. "For her sake."

      _Salem, forgive me. I love you._

     "Do what you must."

      Wynne sliced deeply into Salem's skin, cutting through tissue and muscle. My lover's body jerked as she registered the pain, though she could do nothing to escape it. Dark blood welled and spilled over the edges of the wound and my mouth went dry. 

     "I need your hands." Wynne spoke. "Spread the skin."

     My throat tightened and my heart raced in my chest as I pried apart the edges of the incision Wynne had made, opening it wide enough for Wynne's deft fingers to enter the wound. The healer grasped my lover's rib, pulling it from the lung it had cut into. Salem made a soft noise of both pain and relief. She coughed and blood spattered her lips. Wynne frowned. 

     "I am here, my love." I whispered a stream of nonsenses and encouragements, not caring who heard. 

     Wynne nudged her rib back into place; the sound sent chills down my spine. Again the blue glow, again the heartbreaking sound of Salem's cries as Wynne mended the damage done to the interior of her body. 

      _Why will you not pass out!_ My thoughts thundered through my mind.  _Why will you not escape the pain that is necessary to **make you well!?**_

     Wynne removed her hand from within Salem's chest, placing it over the wound and streaming magic into it. Salem's eyes flew wide and her wounded hand curled into a fist and slammed down on the table, startling all of us. But then, something changed. Salem's breathing hitched, then fell silent. Her body stopped shuddering, stopped responding at all, even when Wynne prodded her injuries, seeking a response. 

      _Please, please please,_ I begged, pressing my ear against Salem's chest, more afraid than I had been in my entire life. Fast, erratic beats caught my ear and I released the breath I had held. 

     "She's alive." I breathed. "Just unconscious. At last."

     Wynne whispered something inaudible and wiped sweat from her brow, leaving a bloody streak. She pulled a needle and thread from her satchel and threaded it through with a steady hand that I envied. I smoothed Salem's hair away from her sweat-drenched skin. Her temperature was still dangerously elevated in spite of Morrigan's spell; her body straining to fight infection. 

     As I moved her hair back, I saw several bloody notches in the shell of her ear. Further inspection revealed the marks of tiny, razor teeth and winced. I remembered the rats gnawing on my ankles and fingers as I lay in the dungeons of Val Royeaux. They had bitten, but not torn away chunks of my flesh as they had with Salem. The notches were deep enough and wide enough that scar tissue would not mend them...they would remain there forever. 

     Wynne set down her needle and moved to Salem's arm, detaching the reed from her skin and elevating Alistair's arm. I took the bottle of wine and splashed it into the deep wounds in Salem's thigh, cleaning them so that Wynne could stitch them. 

     Alistair flinched as Wynne pulled the reed from his arm and bandaged the small wound. 

     "Was it enough?" he asked, sounding worried. "I have more."

     "You've done well." Wynne assured him. "Morrigan, get Alistair something to eat and drink and have him sit down. It will not do to have two wardens incapacitated. Leliana, we need to clean, stitch, and bandage her wounds. I'm quite certain I will need more silk...Eamon should have some."

     "I will acquire it." Morrigan murmured as she escorted Alistair from the room. 

     I continued cleaning Salem's wounds with the wine even though my hands trembled with fear and fatigue. It would be so much more simple...so much more easy if Wynne could use the great gifts she possessed to mend the tears in my lover's body. 

     "Wynne..." I began to ask. 

     "When her fever breaks." Wynne anticipated the question and answered it. "She is under too much strain to endure more healing magic...it is difficult enough for her to breathe."

     I rested my hand over Salem's left breast, needing to feel her heart beat, needing positive affirmation of life. 

     "Be careful of her ribs." Wynne cautioned. "We cannot risk further internal injury."

     "Of course." I murmured, soaking another strip of linen in wine and beginning to clean the deep gash in Salem's temple as Wynne applied her needle to the other wounds. 

     I paused, letting my fingers trace the contours of Salem's features, broken, bruised, and swollen as they were. She could never be anything but beautiful in my eyes. 

      _Come back to me, my love. I am waiting for you._


	23. The Place that is Safe

**Salem**

_"Salem," I hear my mother's voice, firm, kind, and so sweet to my hearing that I do not open my eyes, lest this prove to be a dream. "Salem, dear, you need to wake up."_

_"Don't feel well." I mutter, reaching for the covers with a hand that is not mine._

_There are no blue spiderwebbing scars left by the acid of dragon's blood. There is no puncture through the palm from a broken knight's frustrated blade. This is, indeed, simply a dream. A dream of kinder times, and a life less brutal._

_"I know." my mother tugs the covers down and smoothes my hair with her fingers. "That is not important. There are those who are waiting for you. They need you, Salem. They need you to wake up."_

_"But..."_

_"No arguments." my mother speaks with authority, an immovable tone that I have heard and heeded my entire life. I have no choice in this matter. "Open your eyes."_

_I crack my eyelids and the light blinds me; pain fires through my temples. "Hurts."_

_"You are stronger than this." Eleanor Cousland insists. "Open. Your. Eyes."_

_I clench my hands into fists and grit my teeth, readying myself for the barrage of unpleasant sensations awaiting me in the waking world._

* * *

     I forced my eyelids upwards. One opened fully, the other to a narrow slit, but at least I knew that the swelling had begun to recede. I did not wish to move my head, but I let my eyes travel through the room, attempting to ascertain where I was. I remembered...I remembered hearing Leliana's voice, feeling her touch...but I did not know if that were a dream, and if I was still in Howe's estate. 

      _Five words, Cousland._ The ghost of Loghain's words blistered my thoughts.  _Five, excruciatingly simple words, and I will deliver you to Arl Eamon and your companions, healed._

     The room around me was unfamiliar. A fire burned in the hearth, creating a hazy halo of light. The air here was not wracked with tension, burdened with treachery. I knew I was no longer imprisoned, no longer in a dungeon, and my heart began to beat faster. 

      _What have I done?_ I wondered, struggling to control my breathing...it hurt too much to inhale deeply.  _Did I...did I give in? Did Loghain break me? If so...the Landsmeet is doomed. I have endangered us all. Oh Maker, please...please do not let it be true. Please let me have remained strong._

     A dull ache radiated through my entire body. I could sense that the slightest movement would transpose the ache to agony. I licked my chapped lips, tasting old blood, feeling the gashes in the sensitive skin. I shivered from cold, even though heat radiated from the fire and I could feel the weight of heavy blankets on my body.

     I turned my head and pain fissured through my back and ribs. I squeezed my eyes shut, combating the pain, taking stilted, shuddering breaths until it lessened. When it did, I opened my eyes and moved my hand, finding it heavily bandaged...and locked within another's grasp. I lifted my head the slighest amount, smiling as I saw tousled red hair spread out across the covers. 

      _I am safe here,_ I forced myself to believe, knowing that, were such not the case, Leliana would not be sleeping.  _Loghain cannot make a move against me in this place, not without arousing suspicion he can ill-afford. There are none here who would seek to cause me pain, none who will barrage my mind and seek truths in my blood that my lips will not spill._

     My body told me that I should attempt to sleep once again, that I should close my eyes and escape the pain, but I could not. I could not endure the agony in my mind, the terror of not knowing if I had betrayed our cause...if I had cracked beneath Loghain's whips. 

     "Leliana." I whispered, my voice hoarse, pathetically weak.

      _I know you must be exhausted, dear heart, but please, please wake up. I need you so very, very much. I need to know that you are all right. That you were not hurt...if you were there with me in the flesh, not simply a dream._

     With great effort, I disentangled my hand from hers. She stirred but did not wake. Her head turned and her lips moved as she mumbled something in Orlesian. I cursed in my thoughts, wishing I were not so helpless. Leliana only spoke her native tongue when bewildered, furious, or lost in nightmares. 

     "Leliana, wake up." I begged, unable to raise my voice above a weak rasp. "Please, dear heart, do not be troubled."

     With stilted, awkward movements, I placed my bandaged hand against her hair, working my fingers through it as best I could. Unconscious, she moved toward my touch, made contact with my hand, and flinched. I felt an inconsequential stab of pain through my palm. 

     Leliana's eyes opened, slow at first. Then, they filled with alarm and she blinked rapidly and sat up, trying to orient herself. Her eyes fell on me and the alarm faded to an intense concern. 

     "S...Salem?" her voice was sleep-drugged, her accent thick with remnants of her dream...or nightmare. "Salem, are you awake?"

     "Yes." I answered, heart swelling with joy as she gazed into my broken eyes with her own. 

      _You are alive. You are well. You are here beside me and suddenly, all is as it should be, the world aligned in its proper place._

     "How do you feel?" she inquired, straightening her posture as she adjusted her position in what had to be the most uncomfortable of chairs. 

     "Exhausted. In pain." my weakness would not allow me to lie. Cauthrien's torture had ruined my veneer of invulnerability; I could no longer pretend at strength. "Thirsty."

     "I can remedy at least one ailment." Leliana smiled, rose from her chair, and stretched the kinks from her body. 

     She moved out of my field of vision and my parched throat throbbed as I heard the sound of water being poured. My lover returned and pulled her chair closer to the bed, sat down, and held a cup of water to my abused lips. 

     I drank, greedy, not caring when the water spilled over my lips and ran down my neck. When I had drained the cup, Leliana set it aside on a nearby table. She rested her hand against my forehead and frowned, removing her hand before my need for her touch had been sated. 

     "Your temperature is still much too high." she sat back down, resting her elbows on the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands. 

      _Do not worry yourself over me._

     "Leli," I rested the back of my hand against her forearm, stroking her skin with the minute movements allowed by the bandaging. "Are...are the others all right? Wha...what happened? How did...I come to be here?"

     Her brow creased and I could see the worry in her eyes. "Do you not remember?"

     "Flashes." I breathed. "Remnants. Loghain...Loghain offered to release me, if I spoke his version of the truth. I...I do not remember..."

     "Oh, Salem." Leliana's tone held unfathomable compassion. "Quiet your mind, my darling. You did not give in to him...even though none of us would have blamed you. Many have broken completely under less strain. But let your heart be at ease. Alistair and I broke into Howe's estate and brought you back. You surrendered nothing for your freedom."

      _No!_ I wanted to sit up, to take her in my arms, but I knew that I could not move, and that knowledge brought me more pain than Loghain's whips.  _Leliana...no. Why did you return? I witnessed the effect the dungeon had on your soul and psyche. You should not have risked such a thing again...not for me._

     "Are you...are you all right?" I asked, needing to know. 

     "No." she admitted, her voice low with tears. 

     "Tell me." I urged her, even though my continued wakefulness brought further awareness of pain. "Please."

     She shook her head, no. "Another time, my love. You need to rest."

     "I need you." I argued, forcing my arm to rise and reach out for her, biting back the pain that threatened to steal my breath, holding a stone mask over my face. "All else...can wait."

     Leliana's face fell and a new, much more agonizing, pain washed over me as I watched my lover's body wracked with sobs. She wrapped her arms about herself as her body jerked with the force of her grief while I lay helpless to assuage it. 

     "When...when will you learn, Salem?" she questioned, clearly in agony. "When will you learn to value your life above others?"

     "When all the world is dead." I answered. 

     " _You_ nearly died!  _You!_ And your life is in jeopardy even now!" she cried. "And I..." her voice began to tremble. "...I am not even strong enough to force you to recover. No. I am so selfish, I am so  _spent with fear_ that I barrage you with  _my_ needs the moment you open your eyes! Worse yet, I feel  _so secure_ in your love that I can do so without second thought! Can you not, Salem, for one moment, _one moment,_ be  _human!?"_

      _I...I have no words. Damn me, I have nothing._

     "Forgive me, dear heart." I begged, longing to be able to reach out, touch her, comfort her. Instead, I was chained in a broken body, unable to do anything. "I did...what I thought...was best."

     "You always do." she condmned me. "And, Maker's curse upon me, I  _love_ you for it. But to be here...to sit vigil at your bedside as you struggle for breath and burn with fever...knowing it was I who brought you this pain..."

     "No." I growled. 

      _I will **not** let you take this upon yourself, Leliana. I made my decision of my own will, with sound mind. I will  **not** let you blame yourself for my suffering._  

     I gritted my teeth and propped myself up on my elbows, feeling sweat pour down my face, feeling the deep ache in my body begin to awaken into a merciless throbbing. 

     " _No._ " I insisted. "Do not  _dare_...impose this burden...on yourself."

     "Salem, lie still." she rose and wrapped her arm around my shoulders, easing me back down onto the pillows. "Do not endanger yourself further, and do not argue with me. This  _is_ my burden to bear. I crumbled in Howe's dungeons, Salem. Neither of us can deny this. Had I been able to fight...were I not so  _broken,_ you would never have been forced to make that choice."

     "I,"  _please, Maker, let her remain unbroken by this truth,_ "would have made...the same decision...regardless."

     Blood drained from Leliana's face, leaving even her lips pale. "Don't say that." she begged. "Please, tell me you are lying, Salem."

     "No."

     "Then...I am...nothing but a weakness." nightmares flashed inside her eyes, dark dreams brought into the light of day. 

     Fear gripped my heart and threatened to tear it apart. She had left my side before, in a moment not so dissimilar to this one. I did not know if I could bear it, should she walk away from me again. I could not judge her, could not hate her, if she did so...but it was not an existence I could survive. Not again. 

     "If you ever," I coughed and bit back a groan of agony, "say anything that  _ludicrous_ again, Leliana...I will be forced to spend the rest of my life disproving you. You  _are_ my strength. You  _are_ my sanity.  _You_ are my  _life_."

     "A life you are still in danger of losing." she protested. "You are  _not well_ , Salem...you sacrifice too much, risk too much, for me. Your logic is flawed, my warden."

     "Logic...is simple." my previous words had exhausted my short supply of breath. "You live; I live."

     "That is the extent of it?" she asked, looking at me with hopeful, prayerful, tear-stained eyes. 

     She turned her face, and in the glow of the firelight, I saw the small cut on her cheek. It had scabbed over, and relief washed over me, for her sake, when I realized that the wound would not scar. 

     "That is...the simplicity...of it." I answered, hoping to free her from her guilt, to take the weight from her shoulders. "I love you, Leliana."

     "Then rest." she brought my bandaged hand to her lips and kissed it. "Please, Salem just...just sleep and escape the pain that I know you are in, no matter how well you conceal it. Close your eyes, beloved.  _Rest_."

     "Only if you...do the same." I did not like the trails of tears on her cheeks or the dark circles beneath her eyes. 

     "I promise." she leaned forward and pressed a feather light kiss against my lips. 

     I did not mind the discomfort of my split lips, instead savoring the love I felt. I tried to return it, to eradicate Leliana's fear. A fear that had been present in her since she had first entered Howe's dungeons. 

     I closed my eyes, willing myself to fall back into what nightmares would come. Because she had asked me to. Because she needed to believe that I would be safe from pain in the realm of dreams. I could give her that. I would give her anything. 

      _For her sake. I will go through any number of hells. For her sake._

 


	24. The Dreams that Destroy

**Leliana**

    Salem closed her eyes and I watched her carefully, waiting for her body to relax as it fell into sleep. After a moment, the crease in her brow faded and her body relaxed, temporarily free from the pain that defined her current existence. Tears pricked my eyes as I rose from my chair and walked to the desk, pouring fresh well water into a ceramic basin and taking it back to Salem's bedside. 

     I soaked a cloth in the water and wrung it out before wiping the sweat from Salem's face and the beads of blood from her lips. The scabs had cracked when she spoke. I soaked the cloth again and began to bathe my lover's battered face and bruised neck, attempting to cool her fever. 

     My hand started shaking, miniscule fissures of muscle that defined me. Salem had awakened...her first thoughts for our cause, for the Landsmeet. She feared she might have betrayed it, and that knowledge broke me. 

      _She could never...she would have let them kill her first. But how close did you come, Salem? How close did you come to breaking?_

     I had no answer. I would never receive one. Salem's questions upon waking had been enough. She had asked after the others. She had asked after me and, even through immense pain, and the fugue of fever and infection, she had tried to comfort me. 

     "Damn you." I whispered to her sleeping form. "Damn you for always letting me break apart."

     The allowance of vulnerability...was Salem's particular gift. Marjolaine had strictly forbidden indulging in emotion. 

      _She said it was my greatest weakness. My dreams, my hopes, my fears...all were connected to emotion. All were certain to doom me, should I give in to them. But you,_ I brushed the back of Salem's hand with my fingertips,  _you insufferably kind, horrifically understanding, ridiculously noble woman...you have allowed me to be the one person I have never known. My self._

     "I love you." I said, wishing her body was not so broken. 

     I wanted to wrap my arms around her, press her body to mine, reassure myself that she was, in fact, safe. 

      _But,_ harsh reality settled in,  _her back is held together by layers of stitches and bandaging. Her ribs are broken. Her lung was torn. Her entire body is bruised. And yet...she says, no matter what I had done, that she would have still chosen torture. Because...if we had lost...I would have been sent back down to hell._

     Tears pricked my eyes...again. This time, I let them fall. 

      _This is...who I am. My emotion, my fears, my vulnerabilities. I have nothing to hide any longer. I am no longer swathed in shadows. Thank you, Salem. Thank you for your beautiful strength. Thank you for your willingness to give **so much** of yourself...please be all right, my darling. Please. I cannot imagine a world without you in it._  

     The door swung open and I turned to face it, expecting to see Wynne. She had come in every two candlemarks or so, evaluating Salem's condition. Instead, I looked into the fear-stricken gaze of Alistair. Wynne had sent him to his quarters after he had eaten, ordering him to rest...but I did not believe it was the blood loss that made him look so unwell. His movements were cagey, his face pale, his eyes...haunted. 

     "Is Salem all right?" he asked. 

     "She woke up not long ago." I answered. "She was cogent, aware of her surroundings..." I trailed off. 

     Alistair did not appear to have heard a single word. His eyes twitched, flicking from me, to Salem, to the fire and back again in an increasing frenzy. 

     "Alistair." I snapped. "What is wrong?"

     "A...a dream." he stammered. "I had a very, very bad dream."

      _And why would that pertain to Salem?_ I wondered, thinking it sweet that the young man was so exceedingly over-protective. 

     "Alistair..."

     "A  _Grey Warden_ dream." Alistair interrupted, still shaken by whatever he had seen in slumber. "I could smell burning corpses. I saw the Archdemon; heard its ear-splitting song. It  _saw_ me, Leliana...and it breathed its fire over me. I was burning alive." He shuddered and bit his lip. "I was worried..." pain filled his gaze, "...the state she's in."

     Understanding struck me and my heart began racing. I placed my hand against Salem's forehead, startled at the difference from mere moments before. 

     "Her fever's rising." I looked to Alistair. "Go and fetch Wynne,  _now._ If her temperature is not controlled she could have a seizure."

     The warden fled the room and I stood over Salem, taking her relatively un-injured hand in mine, squeezing it. 

     "Salem." I called her name. "Salem, wake up, my love. Wake up." 

     Her lips parted and I held my breath, hoping that her eyes would open. Instead, a horrible sound of pain, the piteous whimper of a wounded animal, filled the room and Salem's body jerked as though she had been struck. 

     "Salem,  _wake up_." I pleaded, knowing the torment she suffered from the nightmares spawned by her tainted blood. 

       _Please, before the dream eats you alive and damages you further. Come back to me!_

     "Salem!" I shouted her name, trying to bring her back into the waking world, to open her eyes, alleviate her nightmares, give her the peace and rest that she  _needed_. 

     My warden's body began to shake, then spasm beneath the layers of blankets. Her eyes worked frantically beneath her lids, and the muscle in her jaw tightened visibly as she clenched her teeth. 

      _She's seizing_. I realized.

     Fear for her life spurred me into action and I moved onto the bed, straddling Salem's hips with my knees, pressing my hands against her shoulders as she continued spasming. I could feel every flutter of muscle beneath her damaged skin and I trembled at the thought of what it must be doing to her injuries. 

      _She is ripping herself **apart!**_ I thought as a particularly violent spasm wracked her, stretching her body taut and straight before disintigrating into small fissures of movement.

     After what seemed an eternity, the seizure ended. I lowered my ear to Salem's lips, felt the warmth of her breath against my skin and nearly collapsed on top of her with relief. However, while the danger had passed, the nightmare had not. My warden muttered in the throes of the dream, turning her head from side to side, ripping the scabs off of the bite wounds on her ears, smearing the pillowcase with fresh blood. 

     Sweat streamed down Salem's face as the fever burned in her blood and I reached for the basin of water and the cloth, bathing her face and neck once again as I tried to keep her body still and  _prayed_ that another seizure would not come. 

     "Listen to me, Salem." I begged her as tears clouded my eyes. "Hear my voice and follow me back."

     She struggled beneath my hands, fighting the demons in her dreams. Her back arched and a gut-wrenching scream peeled from her lips. I wondered if her nightmare mirrored Alistair's, if her body was being washed in the archdemon's flame even now. The scream ended and Salem collapsed against the bed, moaning softly, tears slipping out from beneath tight-shut eyelids. 

      _Maker, help me._ I pulled back the covers and my heart sank as I saw new red stains striping her bandages.  _She is tearing open her wounds. What I would not give to be able to walk into her mind and drown out the Archdemon's screams...songs...Alistair called them. A dark, twisted music._

     I stroked my hand through Salem's hair, attempting to soothe her, touching the only part of her body which was not damaged. It had been quite some time since I had lifted my voice in song. So long that the idea seemed almost foreign. 

      _But it has brought her out of nightmares before. It is the one chance I have of rescuing her from this._

     I breathed deep and parted my lips, letting the words of an old ballad come to mind, giving my voice over to the music, and the hope within, that somewhere it would reach Salem's mind, and drag her back to me. 

" _Out of midnight, out of ashes,_

_break my dark and be my dawn,_

_lay aside the sword for roses_

_as the day leads on and on._

 

_With a whisper, with the thunder,_

_every moment keeps its spark,_

_hold to fire, hold to memory,_

_as dawn leads into dark._

_My salvation, my redemption,_

_my ever-waiting light,_

_keep your faith and your heart beating,_

_soon shall come the end of night._ "

     The song ended and I rested my forehead against Salem's own, letting my tears drip onto her face, tasting the salt of her sweat on her skin as I pressed my lips to her cheek. 

     "Please wake up." I begged. 

     In a movement so slow it looked painful, Salem's eyes opened. They were hazy, unfocused, over-bright with fever, but I saw recognition in them when they landed on me. My warden's lips moved, forming silent words. 

     " _I love you_."

     "It would appear the only magic needed here was yours." Wynne spoke from the door. 

     I blushed three furious shades of red, astounded by my reaction to such simple words after what had just happened. 

     "I...I could think of nothing else."

     "Is she all right?" Alistair asked. 

     "I'm...fine." Salem answered, but her breathing was labored; her eyes lit with fear. "T...Thank you, Alistair."

     "She's not fine." I growled, looking to Wynne, beckoning her closer. "Her fever spiked and it drove her into a seizure. I did what I could but...I am certain she's re-opened some of her wounds."

     "Oh, Maker." Alistair choked over the words, and in the light from the fire, he looked green. "Is...will...Wynne..."

     "Go back to sleep, Alistair." the senior enchanter ordered. "I have the situation well in hand, and there is nothing more you can do for her. On the morrow, this might change, and I will need you at full strength. Go. Now."

     The look in Alistair's eyes made me want to weep. He loved Salem...he loved her as I did, but he had no way in which to show it. He could not remain by her side for hours on end, he could not deny himself what he required in order to help her. He could not do this...out of respect for me. And her. And the love we shared. 

     The warden departed and my heart broke for the true _goodness_ of the man. He would make a fine king. A good leader. But, in this moment, he was a broken thing, worried to death over the fate of his fellow warden and dear friend. 

     Wynne moved to Salem and rested her hand on my warden's brow for all of a breath. The mage said nothing, but moved her hand over the bed and whispered a few words which I could not hear. Relief swept through me as I saw frost rime the covers and sheets; saw the fog of my own breath as I exhaled. 

     Wynne looked down at Salem, a mother's concern in her gaze. "How do you feel?"

     "Like...there is...a knife...in my gut." Salem winced as she shivered, her over-heated body reacting to the sudden, magic-made change in temperature. "And everywhere else."

     Wynne pursed her lips as she sat down on the edge of the bed. "Is it difficult to breathe?" she asked. "Is your chest heavy? Do you taste blood in your mouth?"

     "Breathing...hurts." Salem murmured. "And I can...taste blood."

     "Damn it." Wynne cursed, and placed a glowing blue palm at the center of Salem's chest. After a moment, she looked up at me. "You did well, Leliana." she said. "None of her stitches were torn...but the wound to her lung was aggravated, and I will have to use magic to repair it."

     "It's all right." Salem spoke. 

     "Wynne...is it safe?" I asked, concerned. 

      _I cannot lose you again, Salem. I cannot watch you die again. I do not want a world without you in it._

"No." Wynne spoke the truth. "But it is the only way I have."

     "Do it." Salem agreed, her words slurring with exhaustion. 

     Wynne wasted no time. She pressed her hand against Salem's right breast, where she had made the incision, and released her magic into Salem's body. Underneath the bruising, my warden paled. Her eyes fired with agony and another cry ripped from her throat. She struggled to take in air, her breathing coming in jerking, uneven gasps...too fast. Much too fast. 

     "Salem," I sat beside her, taking her uninjured hand in my own. "Salem, love, breathe. Slowly."

     Wynne withdrew her hand and Salem lay twitching as aftershocks of pain flooded her. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her eyes locked with mine, full of fear. Her breathing did not slow as she pulled her hand from mine, reached out, and latched onto my shirt, twisting the material into a knot. 

     "Salem, slow your breathing." Wynne cautioned, but the pain in my lover's body was too intense, too strong, and she could not battle it. 

     Salem's eyes rolled back in her head as she lost consciousness. Her grip on my shirt loosened and I brought her hand to my mouth, kissing her knuckles with trembling lips, struggling to regain my composure. 

     "Wynne?" I asked, needing to know, unable to voice a more detailed inquiry. 

     "She's not well, Leliana." the healer spoke, grim. "The infection must have spread deeper than I thought if the fever has this much of a grasp on her. Magic can stop bleeding, mend bones, fix teeth, and heal organs...but it can do little to nothing for illness and infection. Only time, persistence, and knowledge can combat those."

     "She does not sleep." I spoke, bitter against the world, against fate, against the hands that had done this to the one I loved. "She has been unconscious, not truly resting. What sleep she might have gotten was interrupted by that...that  _fucking_ nightmare."

     "The trials of a warden are little understood." Wynne sponged Salem's brow with a lavender scented cloth and looked up at me, a kind smile on her face. "The trials of those that love them are understood even less. You are well on your way to an exhausted collapse, Leliana. You should try to sleep."

     "No." I shook my head, vehement in my resistance of the idea. "I...I do not wish to leave her side."

     "The infection and fever are proving more troublesome than I hoped they would be, and require that I remain here, with her. She does not need two anxious caretakers, my dear. There is a comfortable sofa near the fire. Rest, Leliana. You can trust me to wake you if there is any change."

     I rubbed my thumb across Salem's knuckles, pursing my lips, fighting my thoughts. 

      _The last time I walked away from you in this city...I was called back, by Wynne, to say my farewells. Can I trust that lightning will not strike twice? Can I trust that, when I wake, you will still be with me in this world?_

     My eyelids fluttered, tempted by the thought of sleep, of venturing to a place free from worry and guilt. Wynne spoke truly. I did hover on the delicate edge of collapse, and I would be useless to anyone were I to fall. 

     "Dream sweetly, my love." I kissed Salem's hand, set it down, and went to the sofa. 

     I lay down, watching the flames dance in the hearth, whispering a prayer to any god that would hear, interceding with them for my lover's life. My lips continued to move until my eyelids fluttered shut, and oblivion washed over me. 


	25. The Cost of Noble Blood

**Salem**

    Awareness rolled over me like a slow moving tide. I could hear the splashing of rain on the stone windowsill, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the low murmur of voices. 

     "The arl is preparing for the Landsmeet, Mistress Wynne." I heard the voice of Eamon's butler. "But he wished me to convey his deep concern for Warden Cousland's condition, and to say that, should you need anything, you may make full use of the estate and those in the arl's employ. I have taken the liberty of having food prepared for you and Lady Leliana. It should be delivered shortly."

     "Thank you for your kindness." Wynne sounded exhausted. "Food would be welcome."

     The pain, which had been a slow beat in the back of my mind, intensified in vicious increments until it became a roar in the back of my mind. My eyes remained closed and I attempted to will myself back into sleep, to escape the pain, to be as little of an inconvenience to those I cared for. Those who had expended so much time and effort to help me. 

     I heard a knock at the door and ignored it, thinking it was the servant Eamon's butler had mentioned. 

     "Enter." Wynne called, low, thinking that I still slept. 

      _So kind. So caring. Maker, thank you...thank you for the blessings you have given me._

     "Forgive my intrustion." the person at the door spoke. 

      _...that voice. I know that voice. Why is it here?_

     "Not an intrusion at all." Wynne answered. "Do come in."

     I heard footsteps, followed by the sound of a slight gasp. "Maker's breath. This is what...this is what they did to her? How is she?"

     "Touch and go." Wynne answered as I struggled to remember where I knew that voice from. "I will be able to do more once her condition stabilizes, but until then, I must wait and do what I can to help her manage the pain."

     "How very terrible. My father always claimed that one would know a Cousland by their inability to bear a healer's touch."

      _Anora!_ I recalled the sound of her voice at last.  _Why did she come...why did I never hear this?_

     "I see." Wynne murmured. "If such knowledge extends to her family, is this a hereditary trait? One not peculiar to Salem herself?"

     I opened my eyes and winced as the dim light from the window pierced them. A light touch grazed my hand and I looked up, meeting Anora's worried, gentle sky blue gaze. 

     "Rumors are," Ferelden's unseated queen spoke to Wynne, "that during the war with Orlais, Bryce Cousland suffered more from a simple healing spell than a chevalier's weapon."

     "He...never...told me." I whispered, voice harsh. 

     "Welcome back, Salem." Wynne greeted me as she held a cup of water to my lips, and raised her brows, a silent order for me to drink. I tasted the bitterness of elfroot in the water, but I drained the glass and Wynne set it aside. 

     "No." Anora murmured. "Bryce would not." She gave me the ghost of a smile. Her face was strained, pale, and her eyes had violet smudges beneath them. "You and your damned Cousland pride."

     Wynne pursed her lips. "Perhaps I should excuse myself." she turned her back. 

     "Wynne...wait." she turned to me. "Leliana? Is she all right?"

     A long-suffering smile crossed the mage's lips. "She is still asleep, warden. When last you woke, she was near dead on her feet."

      _Thank the Maker._ _Leliana would not take care of herself if Wynne did not order her. And I could not...could not bear any ill to befall her._

     "Thank you, Wynne." I blinked and had to fight to open my eyes again. "Thank you for caring for the both of us."

     "It is my privilege." the senior enchanter smiled. "I am going to fetch Morrigan to watch over you, Salem. Leliana needs her rest, and the Denerim market opens soon. My supplies are running low. Perhaps they would not be if you could manage to remain in one piece..."

     "Perish the thought." I grinned, wincing as my bruised face and split lips protested. 

     "Please, do not overtire her, your majesty." Wynne looked to Anora. 

     "In the midst of battle, healers overrule the crown." the queen nodded her understanding and Wynne departed the room. 

     Anora's eyes met mine and an awkward silence descended...the silence of something old, secret, sacred. A place never ventured because life and time did not allow it. Now, it never would. Once, the queen and I had been similar. Once, we had been friends. But the war ended, our fathers disagreed, and we had lived vastly different lives since that day. 

     Anora had become a politician, waging wars with words and fighting duels with pens. As for me...well...the title of Grey Warden eclipsed everything that I might have become, ever future that I might have imagined. 

     "Maker's blood, Salem." Anora sat down. "You look like death. It hurts to even look at you and I...I do not know what to say." she averted her eyes and shook her head. "I never thought I would see you again. Least of all under circumstances such as these."

     "I must admit, this is not quite how I imagined our meeting."

     "You imagined this?" she asked, eyes widening, looking, perhaps, for what we had once shared. 

     "We would have been forced to see each other eventually, Nori." I used her childhood nickname. "Were circumstances different, I would have come to the Denerim court as a noble."

     Anora scoffed. "When did your tongue become gilded?" her tone was bitter. "Were circumstances different..." her words trailed off. "No one has called me 'Nori' in a decade."

     "What do you want me to say?" I wondered. "That I do not recall our history? That I prefer my life as a warden? Do you wish an apology for Cailan's death? It would mean precious little from my lips, but I could offer it to you."

     Tears gathered in Anora's eyes and she wiped them away, laughing under her breath. It, too, was tinged with bitterness and remorse. 

     "An apology?" she asked. "No. I know why Cailan is dead, Salem." she sighed. "And it is not the fault of the wardens, as my father would lead my country to believe."

      _So she did not believe Loghain. That is...fortuitous._

     "Thank you...for that."

     "Thank me for nothing." she ran her hand through her loose golden hair. "I am quite certain that I am the one responsible for your injuries."

      _You think too much of yourself, Anora. Or, perhaps, we are now too far removed from each other. You no longer know who I am...just as I do not know the queen of Ferelden._

     "It seems that all the world clamors to take blame for my scars." I smiled. "I believe I am forbidden from earning them myself. It is exceedingly frustrating."

     Anora chuckled. "I see your peculiar bent of humor remains unchanged. There were many times I missed your acerbic commentary at court functions after...well...after the disagreement."

     "The disagreement?" I coughed. "Now who speaks with a gilded tongue?"

     Anora met my eyes at last, flinching as she saw the scars that had been left even there. 

     "Fine." she relented. "But do not pretend that you are unaware that our positions should be reversed. Ferelden wanted Cousland for her king."

     I shifted upwards, onto the pillows, feeling dizzy as pain washed through my body. I gasped and lay still, shaking my head slightly as Anora rose, concern etched on her features. I did not want her to touch me, or help me. I needed to understand the game she played. 

      _Does she wish me to feel guilt? Is she attempting to gather information for Loghain? I have no way of knowing...she is not who I remember. We were friends once, Nori...if given the chance, we might have been more._

     "Our fates were never ours, Nori." I whispered. "We have simply followed what roads were laid before us."

     "And in one terrible battle, Ferelden finds its original decisions overturned." Anora gazed out of the window, looking back on darker times that, somehow, held more light than those we lived in now. "Theirin extinguished, Cousland all but vanquished, and a Mac Tir on the throne. My father cannot bear the supposed slight. He says that Mac Tir will  _earn_ its royalty, not accept it by default."

     "Is he not content that his daughter wears the crown?" I asked, though I felt I already knew the answer. "Must he have it for himself?"

     "Of course." Anora's bitterness returned. "He  _knew_ Howe would massacre your family with little to no encouragement. He  _knew_ Cailan would kill himself if a proper opportunity for glory was presented. Damn that naïve, ignorant,  _beautiful_ boy." A faraway look entered her eyes, and the question I had always asked answered itself. Anora _had_ loved Cailan. "He longed for a legacy that rivaled Maric's own. I wanted to make a name for myself that my father could neither use nor overshadow. And you...what did you desire, Salem?"

      _What my father always spoke of with longing and love._

     "Peace." I answered. "I desired peace. It seems...we all find ourselves enslaved to and at odds with our father's wishes."

     "Indeed."

      _Side with me in the Landsmeet, Anora, and you will achieve your desire. Cailan earned his with his death in defense of Ferelden. And, if I survive, I **will** bring peace to this land. I swear it._ 

     "Nori..."

     "No." she shook her head. "Just...no, Salem. Those times are beyond us now, out of reach. We are women now, not the girls that we were. It is best we forget the things that might have been, and see ourselves as we are now. I am a queen cast down from my throne. You are...Maker, look at you...a Grey Warden. A hero...the sort of hero my husband dreamed of being."

     "That is not what I am to you." I muttered. 

     "You are right." she sighed, heavy. 

     "What am I to you, Nori?"

     "An old friend who...who cannot be such a thing to me any longer. A woman on the verge of death, because my father ordered her tortured. I came to tell you of my decision, Salem, not to speak about the past, for that is behind both of us now. You will have my support at the Landsmeet, but that will be the extent of it. I will do what is best for my country, for Cailan and Maric's sake, but I will not abandon my father. He is...he is all that I have left, Salem. Surely you understand. You would not turn your back on your family."

     "And yet I did." I felt so tired, tired enough that I could not hinder the words I spoke. "I turned and ran with the warden Duncan when Howe sacked Highever. I looked back and saw my mother cut down by a sword. Her eyes were frozen in terror, blood streaming from her open mouth. She died and I did not go to her. I kept running."

     When I looked at Anora once more, she had tears in her eyes. Lady Mac Tir had died when Anora was young, and she had loved nothing more than the affection and attention my mother had given her. Loghain had sent her to us when he and my father had gone to war against Orlais. Eleanor Cousland had been a mother to Anora, as well. 

     "Sweet Andraste." Anora spoke, soft. "I cannot believe...after all that they did together...I cannot believe my father would ordain such an action. He and Bryce never agreed on anything but...but they owed each other their lives. How did this happen, Salem?"

     "I do not know." I replied. "Time and chance have been unkind."

     "Murderous, you mean." she scoffed, and got to her feet. "There are preparations I have to make before the Landsmeet is called, and I must make them with utmost haste and secrecy. Please, Salem...for the sake of the girls we were and the lives we might have lived...get well."

     "Nori," I spoke, the last time I would say the name I had called across fields of lush grasses when we played together as children, "why are you helping me?"

     Anora's eyes moved to the sofa, where Leliana lay in slumber. "You have very  _devoted_ friends, Salem. You are...you are much loved. Thank her for my actions at the Landsmeet."

     I smiled as my eyes closed and dark dreams beckoned. I felt sorrow for what I had lost. Part of who I had been, part of the life I might have lived, had walked away from me and severed the tie between us. However, for every sorrow, joy existed in equal measure. 

      _Thank you, Leliana. If something ventures right in this tumultuous, fraught life I lead, your hands have graced it._


	26. The Strength that Breaks Her

**Leliana**

    An annoyed grumble pulled me out of slumber and into awareness. I sat up, rubbing the grit from my eyes, wondering how long I had been asleep. Dim light entered the room from the open window, though rain still fell and the sun was obscured by heavy clouds. The light dimmed yet further as a disgruntled witch drew the shades across it. 

     "Are you quite pleased, your majesty?" she directed her acidic inquiry towards the bed. 

     "Thank you, Morrigan." I heard the weak rasp of Salem's voice and frowned. 

     Her voice sounded no stronger than it had during the night. My slumber had been uninterrupted, and I had hoped this was due to the fact that her condition had improved. Wynne had promised to wake me if Salem took a turn for the worse. 

     Footsteps echoed across the stone floors and I looked up to see a disdainful glare from Morrigan's amber eyes. 

     "At last you rouse yourself." Morrigan snipped. "Perhaps now  _you_ can attend to your warden's whims and fancies."

      _It is far too early for this_. I thought, rubbing my temples, attempting to stave off the beginning of what promised to be a merciless headache. A chilled hand brushed my shoulder and I looked up again, in shock. Morrigan rarely touched anyone...least of all me, for whom she harbored little if any affection. 

      _Something is off._ I read her body language, the tightness in her shoulders, the almost indicipherable crease between her brow, the slightest downturn of her lips.  _Morrigan's words are angry, but that is not the message that her stance and bearing relay. She is...Morrigan is **afraid.**_

     I got to my feet and walked towards the fire. Morrigan followed me, knowing that I wished to speak with her in relative privacy. No matter what insults the witch had at the ready, I would not let her burrow underneath my skin. 

     "How is she?" I asked, but my voice must have carried, because Salem answered. 

     "I am  _fine_." she growled. 

     Morrigan snapped her head towards my warden. "You are as far from  _fine_ as I am from salvation." she hissed, and turned her attention back to me. "'Tis a wonder she has not yet driven you mad, songstress."

      _Love in itself is madness, Morrigan. But...what in the Maker's name have I awakened to?_

     "I must confess that I am utterly bewildered." I told her. "What is going on?"

     Morrigan sighed. "She is not improving. The fever eased shortly after Wynne departed to re-supply, but it has returned, with a vengeance. She is in tremendous pain, Leliana, and I have done all I know short of magic to return her to sleep. It is not working, and the potions Wynne left with me have been used and are proving ineffective. I am...concerned."

      _Maker's blood-soaked breath. Why can nothing ever be **simple?**_

     I scrutinized the witch, witnessing the anxiety in her golden eyes, the swollen edge of her lip where she had worried the skin with her teeth. I could see something very near regret hovering in her gaze, and it unnerved me. Morrigan did, however, owe Salem her life. My warden had braved the temple of the Sacred Ashes in order to save both Arl Eamon and Morrigan, who had been gravely wounded in the battle with the high dragon. 

      _Morrigan feels that she actually owes Salem something...and she, who has so little regard for life, is terrified for my warden. This is bad. This is all very, very bad._ _  
_

"You should go to the kitchens and eat something." I encouraged her. "Perhaps go for a walk, take in the fresh air. I will care for Salem."

     Morrigan shrugged her shoulders in feigned insouciance, but her eyes screamed with thanks as she departed the room. I sighed and whispered a prayer to the Maker for strength and for sanity. 

      _I have become too much like you, my warden. Taking another's fears onto my shoulders is...new...and unpleasant. How do you carry an entire country's anxieties and concerns onto your shoulders, my love?_

     I walked to the bed and ran my eyes over Salem's body. She appeared little better than she had been yesternight, save that the swelling in her face had gone down. A faint tinge of color graced her cheeks, not the color of health, but of fever-flush. Her arms rested on top of the blanket, and her uninjured hand gripped the covers so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. 

     "What can I do for you?" I asked, pulling the chair at her bedside closer and sitting down, once more reaching for the cloth in the basin of water and cooling Salem's brow. 

     "Make it stop." she begged me in a whisper as her body trembled in agony. "Please, Leliana." she sounded desperate, an emotion I had  _never_ associated with her. "Please make the pain stop."

     My fractured heart splintered in two at her anguished request, and I took her bandaged hand in both of mine, attempting to impart comfort and caring. 

     "Stay strong." I urged her. "A little longer."

     "I'm...tired." she closed her eyes, her breathing short and shallow as she struggled beneath the weight of her injuries. "I...hurt...so badly. Sick with...pretending strength. How...how did you do it?"

     "Do what?" I asked, following her lead, attempting to distract her with conversation. 

     "Bear it?" she answered, gritting her teeth and growling through them, a raw sound that slammed into my gut. "Every time...I close my eyes...I am back in Howe's dungeons. When I wake...the pain returns. The world...is crumbling and I...am  _helpless!"_ she paused, struggling for breath. "How...how did you endure."

     "Time." my voice quavered as I watched tears slide down her cheeks. "A great deal of time."

     "I...do not...have time." Salem groaned, turning her fever-bright eyes to mine. "Leli, I...I don't  _have_ time. I should be...in Denerim's streets...tearing apart Loghain's...reputation and support...not here...chained inside my  _fucking **broken** body!"_ 

     Her words were cut short by a spasm of coughing. Her body jerked and what inhales she could take were puncuated by whimpers and gasps. When the paroxysm passed, she collapsed against the pillows, exhausted and pale. The warrior and warden within her chafed against the pain that held her captive and the injuries that rendered her helpless. It hurt to watch my vibrant, strong, beautiful love struggle with illness and injuries. 

     I ran my fingers through her hair, imparting what comfort I could. A sound of content left her lips as I lightly scratched her scalp. 

     "This will pass, love." I promised her. "You  _do_ have time, and you must concentrate on recovering."  _Please, my darling. For all of us._ "Is there anything I can do for you?"

     Salem's rigid body seemed to relax. "Water?" she asked. "Please."

     "Of course." I pressed a kiss to her cheek and rose from my chair. 

     I walked to the pitcher of water on the table, only to find it empty. I glanced back at Salem, worried about leaving her alone even for a moment...but she had asked me for something so simple, so necessary, and thus I acquiesced. I left the room, walked down the stairs, and into the kitchens. 

     The staff avoided me as I exited the kitchens and drew a bucket of water from Eamon's well, filling the pitcher. I re-entered the house and turned towards the staircase, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor. I could not meet the eyes of the servants, unable to meet their fear and pity. I heard the a rhythmic scrape and turned, feeling sick to my stomach as I watched one of Eamon's servants scrubbing at the blood on the floor. 

      _Salem's blood. After I escaped the dungeons of Val Royeaux, I was given time to recover. I was able to rest, recover, contemplate what had happened to me, heal my body, mind, and soul. Salem does not have that luxury. I may have rescued her from Howe's dungeons, but here, even in safety, Salem's torture continues._

     I ascended the stairs and made my way to Salem's room. I eased the door open and the sight that greeted me forced my heart into a rapid, painful tattoo. The pitcher fell from my hand and shattered on the ground, sending water over the floor. I rushed to the bed. 

     Salem sat on the edge of the bed, visibly shaking. The sound of her breathing was horrible, rasping and stilted. The bandages on her back bore bloodstains that grew incrementally larger. I wanted to strike her, to shake her for her stupidity, but dared not. She was in too much danger, she should not have even been conscious beneath the onslaught of what must have been torment. 

     " _Salem!_ " I raised my voice in panic. " _What in_   ** _hell_** _are you doing!?"_ **  
**

_I should not have left! Why did she do this to herself! What is going through her mind that spurred this **lunacy!?**_

     "Injuries...have not...held me back...before." Salem panted, beads of sweat running down her nose and dripping onto the floor. 

     "Lie down." I ordered her, moving her body back onto the mattress, guiding her head back down to the damp pillow, being as careful of her wounds as I could. Her skin was flame beneath my hands. 

      _She is burning alive._

     "You have not been this severely injured since Ishal." I snarled. "We all have  _limits,_ Salem. You can only exceed them  _so many times_."

     Salem turned her face from my touch. "Need...need to be...useful. Need to...work." 

     Tears of frustration built in her eyes and spilled out. Her hands twitched on top of the colors as her pain, not her mind, dictated the movements of her body. The muscle in her jaw jumped and I could see the rapid pulse in her neck, fluttering and much too fast. 

     "You  _can't_." I stressed the words, hating myself for the iron in my voice, for my inability to provide comfort to her. "What good are you to this mission if you bleed out in the streets. You are  _hurt_ , my darling. I do not even know how you are conscious after the idiocy of attempting to  _stand_." 

     "Cannot...do this." Salem reached up with her uninjured hand and gripped my own. 

     Her grasp should have been painful. I should have felt the pressure and winced, but she was so weak that, in spite of her straining muscles and pronounced tendons, I could barely feel her hand around my own. Worry swirled in my stomach and drove bile up my throat. 

      _Maker, forgive me for this._

     "You  _must_." I sat beside her and smoothed her hair. "I need you to endure. I  _need_ you to recover. Please, Salem, hold on a little longer. For me. Trust me when I say that your fever  _will_ break and your wounds  _will_ heal. The nightmares will fade and you  _will be fine_."

     "Until then...hold me." she begged. "Please. I need...to feel something...other than pain."

     I bit the inside of my cheek, straining to hold back my tears. "Are you certain? Your injuries..."

     "Please." she entreated her silver-blue eyes almost eloquent in their anguish. "I do not care if it kills me."

      _I do. You will make it through this, Salem. I am here for you._

     I lay down beside her and rested my hand on her hip. Even though I wished to place my hand over her heart, I forced myself to remember the deep bruising over her chest and her broken ribs. 

     "Do not do something so idiotic again, Salem." I warned her. 

     "Why?" her tone was faraway, bitter...laced with exhaustion and defeat, slurred with exhaustion and fever. 

     I raised my head and placed a gentle kiss to her collarbone. "Because I cannot live without you." I whispered in her ear. 

     I prayed for slumber to take her; I prayed to the Maker and begged him to ease her pain. A low groan met my ears and the mattress beneath me shuddered as Salem shivered with pain and infection. I drew as close to her as I dared and felt the uncomfortable warmth of her hand as it covered my own. 

     "Forgive me." she breathed, the barest whisper. "I...love you...so much."


	27. The Crime of the Greater Good

**Salem**

    Leliana lay beside me and silence descended. I closed my eyes, letting tears of grief, hopelessness, and unimaginable pain slip from my eyes. My heart ached as tremors of agony rippled through my body, igniting every stitched wound, setting fire along every bruise. My very bones radiated with a deep, gnawing discomfort and though I tried to keep myself still, I could not help the shivers that fissured along my legs, arms, and back. 

     I struggled to keep my face from showing my pain, to hide the fact that I wanted to die to escape the torment, to bury the screams building in up in my lungs. I fought every natural instinct for Leliana's sake. I knew that every moment she spent at my side, seeing me in this state, was a dagger in her gut. Seeing me battered, broken, and bruised had driven her from my side before. 

      _I wonder,_ dark thoughts snaked through my mind,  _how close she is to that edge. I wonder if her heart will give out once more and she will be forced to flee from me to escape the grief. Already, I have dragged her into hell, first burying her in a dungeon and then submitting to torture for her sake...for all of their sakes. Maker, why,_ I focused on the warmth of Leliana's hand that rested on my hip as a wave of agony shredded through me,  _why? I was **young.** I had  **so much** to look forward to. A  **life**...a fucking  **unscarred** life._  

     "What can I do?" Leliana asked, her breath cooling the heat beneath my skin. "I cannot bear to see you in so much pain. Tell me what I can do."

     "Stay with me." I begged, asking for more than her mere physical presence. 

     I pleaded with her for her trust, for her devotion. I asked that she subvert her own pain and help me bear mine. It was the most selfish request I had ever made, but I could not be strong. Cauthrien's knives, the fists of Howe's men, and Loghain's whips had stolen every last bit of my strength. I had been brought low, and could not deny that. My spirit wanted to lash out, to fight back, to break the foundation of Loghain's power and end his grip on Ferelden. But my body was paralyzed with pain, covered with wounds, and weak. So damnably weak. 

     "I could not leave you." Leliana whispered. "Not again. I love you, Salem."

     "Love...you...too." I whispered, a sigh of relief shuddering out of my lips. 

     I began shaking again, feeling spit-crackle fire radiating along the lines of the stitches that held my body together. I could not restrain the soft sounds of pain that broke past my lips, even though I clenched my jaw and clutched the bedcovers until my knuckles turned white. 

     "Salem?" Concern and worry hovered in Leliana's ocean eyes as she propped herself up on her elbow and met my gaze. "Salem, what is it? Tell me, my darling."

     "It... _hurts._ " I turned my face from hers as the words came out in an anguished sob. "I have never...never known this much  _pain_. I...I cannot escape it and I want to  _die_."

     "Dear Maker." Leliana's voice was low, her words etched with heartache as her gentle hand tucked my hair behind my ears.

     I stiffened and winced as she unwittingly brushed the gouges in the sensitive flesh, left by the teeth of the rats. My skin had been eaten by filthy, diseased vermin; still, the woman I loved touched me, cared for me, and spoke to me with kindness. I wanted to focus on that blessing and let it erase all else, but I could barely think beyond the agony wracking me. 

     Leliana rose from the bed and knelt down by her satchel. She removed the small box in which she kept her bowstrings and whetsones. I watched as she pressed against the wood in various places, until a metallic click sounded. With great care, she removed the tray that held all that I thought the box contained. 

      _A hidden compartment,_ I smiled.  _My beautiful bard and her secrets._

     I heard the clinking of glass vials and Leliana returned to me, holding one of them. She sat on the edge of the bed and removed the cork from the tiny bottle. 

     "I am certain Wynne will flay me alive when I tell her of this." Leliana said. "But I will not see you suffer when it could be alleviated. Here," she placed her hand around the back of my neck and lifted my head, placing the vial to my lips, "drink."

     She allowed but a few drops of the thick, sweet liquid to fall on my tongue before removing the vial, replacing the cork, and returning it to its hiding place. Almost immediately, I began to feel the pain grow dull, less insistent, nagging and gnawing. 

     "What...what did you give me?" I asked as Leliana returned to my bedside. 

     "A small amount of poppy syrup." she stroked through my hair with her fingers, soothing me. "Enough of it will attack the heart and kill a man, but a reasonable dose will ease pain and aid sleep. I...I want to help you and I can do so little."

     "You...by my side...is more than I...could ever dream." I whispered, resting my bandaged hand on her thigh. "I love you more than I have words to say."

     "Close your eyes, my love." Leliana returned my hand to the bed, a silent order to keep me from moving it and damaging it. "Try to rest."

     My eyelids fluttered closed just as a knock at the door sounded. I opened my eyes and frowned, wondering who would knock. Any of my friends and companions would simply enter the room. Leliana rose from the bed and opened the door. 

     "Is the warden awake?" I heard Eamon's voice. "I need to speak with her."

     "Yes, but she quite ill and has just taken a sleeping draft..."

     "This cannot wait." the arl interrupted. "News of gravest importance has just reached my ears."

      _Of course,_ bitter thoughts coursed through my mind.  _Duty calls loudest when I am unable to answer._

     "Give him entrance." I said, thinking it best that I speak with the arl before the poppy syrup took full effect. 

     I tried to push myself further up onto the pillows, hissing as my damaged ribs and the lacerations on my back protested. Eamon entered the room and frowned behind his beard when he saw me. Alarm fired in his kind eyes, and I wondered if this was the first he had seen me since Leliana and Alistair had rescued me. 

     "Maker's blood-soaked breath. Lady Cousland, what did that brute do to you?"

     "Nothing." I smiled, attempting humor. "I fell."

     "Andraste help us." Leliana muttered, hiding a smile behind her hand. 

     Eamon cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. "It is not my intent to distress you further, warden, but I felt this matter could not wait."

     "Speak." I assured him, relaxing further as the poppy syrup began its work. 

     I hated this. I hated feeling weak and disoriented when a man I respected, who had offered me his help, came to me with a need. A need that I could not fulfill and face with swords at the ready. 

     "I have received word from a messenger, a defector from Loghain's city guard. He informs me that there is a great deal of unrest in the Denerim alienage, and that he believes Loghain is the cause."

     "What sort of unrest?" I asked, fidgeting as I forced myself to remain still, to not get to my feet and rush to the heart of the matter. 

     The spirit remained willing. The body could not endure it. I felt useless, broken, and furious at this predicament. 

     "There were rumors of a plague in the alienage, some weeks back." Eamon stroked his beard as he relayed the information. "Aid was sent, but the alienage is largely self-contained, so very little was thought was given the matter afterwards, even though no reports were made of the condition of the elves. However, what word has escaped reports multiple disappearances, but no bodies of the plague victims. The elves inter their dead; they do not burn them, so this is very troubling."

      _It is more than troubling; it is quite blatantly **obvious** that something is amiss. If Loghain is behind this, though...it is quite brilliant. In a time of unrest, the elves would be perfect prey. Not a soul to care...not one would. The elves are second class citizens at best. For all our railing against Orlais treating us as their slaves and bastard children, we treat the elves no differently than we did. Ferelden has failed in this. _

     "It bears...further investigation." I acknowledged, watching the crease between Eamon's brows ease. "Speak with Alistair. Send him to the alienage and have him investigate."

     "Are you certain, Salem?" Eamon asked, reluctance tingeing his tone. 

     I could sense that his reluctance was not born of a lack of trust in Alistair. Instead, he did not wish his former ward's life to be placed in danger. He wanted to protect the man who would be king as much as I did...Eamon cared for Alistair as a father cares for a son. It was Isolde who had forced him to send Alistair to the Chantry. 

      _He worries for Alistair, but my own life is expendable. Alistair is...very dear to Eamon. The arl would suffer should something happen. I have no one left to grieve for me. Only her._ I looked to the woman I loved.  _Only Leliana._

     "Quite certain." I assured the arl. "Tell him to go, and to take Morrigan and..."  _forgive me, dear heart,_ "...and Leliana."

     "Of course." Eamon applied the noble's mask, hiding his discontent with my orders. 

     I knew that he would follow them. We had too little time, and with me all but worthless, others would have to take my place and fight what should have been my battles. I loathed it. I loathed myself. 

     Eamon closed the door behind him and Leliana turned her eyes to me. They were bright with bewilderment, sparking with anger and...hurt? 

     "Salem, no." Leliana began to argue, as I had felt she would. "You cannot ask me to leave you. Not while you are injured and ill and in no fit state to...I will not do this."

     "It was not a request." I answered, the impact of my statement lessened by the slurring of my words. 

     I despised the look of hurt that crossed my lover's features, but I could not think of myself in this time. I had to still act as the warden commander of Ferelden. I still had to lead them all. 

      _I may not have the strength to stand under my own power, but I swear by the Maker, I **will** bring Loghain to his knees. _

     "No." Leliana stated, fierce, glaring at me, her eyes filled with ice and pain. "No. You cannot  _order_ that I abandon you while...while..." her voice broke. 

     "While I am ill and injured so gravely that I might die?" I asked, hating the shock and agony that crossed her features. "This is the matter of my life or the lives of thousands, dear heart. A country's stability and safety is worth...worth more than the life of one Grey Warden."

     "Not to me." Leliana dropped to her knees beside the bed and took my hand in her own, lacing our fingers together. "Not to me, Salem. Your life is that which I hold most precious. I would give  _anything_ for you. But to ask me to leave you...even though it might be to aid you is...is torture, Salem. It is torture."

     "I...I know." I murmured an apology. "Forgive me for asking this of you. But I  _need_ you to be there. In Wynne's absence, you are our sole voice of reason. You are the only one who can make Alistair and Morrigan work in accord. Please, Leliana. For my sake."

     "I..." tears slipped from her eyes, "...I should be more than willing. You have done so much for me and yet...perhaps I am too selfish. I want to be near you. I want to care for you."

     "I love you for it." I reached out, disguising my pain, tracing her cheek with my fingertips. "Please believe me when I tell you that the thought of you in harm's way while I am not able to protect you is agonizing. I would..."

     "No." she shook her head and sighed as something in my words struck a spark in her. "I know you too well, Salem Cousland. If I refuse to leave you, you will drag yourself to your feet and kill yourself in an attempt to see this through. You are...you are asking me to protect you from yourself."

     I smiled, feeling exhausted from the few words we had shared and the poppy syrup working through my system. 

     "You know me so well, dear heart."

      _You have seen every side of me...cold, ruthless, calm, altruistic...vulnerable. I love you with all that I am, Leliana._

     "Then," she cleared her throat and wiped her eyes, "I will do this. But you must heed my requests in exchange." her hand made slow, sweeping movements across my fevered brow. "You must sleep, rest, and get well."

     "I swear it." I smiled, closing my eyes as my ever-waning strength departed. "Leli...take...Burrow...with you."

     "I shall."

     The last thing I remembered was her lips ghosting my own with a kiss. 


	28. The Hidden Burdens She Carries

**Leliana**

    Alistair eyed the gate to the Alienage, examining the caliber of the men standing guard before it. They were huge hunks of muscle, clad in full plate armor, with large greatswords strapped to their back. Most of Denerim's denizens avoided the alienage all together, barely giving it a glance as they walked by. Now, they had much more reason to ignore its presence and existence. 

     "Loghain's guards." the man sounded defeated before we had even begun. "I feel we may as well give this up for lost."

     "Losing nerve already without your warden to hide behind?" Morrigan quipped. "'Tis as simple as showing them Eamon's authorization of passage."

     "Nothing  _about this_ is  _simple_." Alistair stressed, voice taut. "Perhaps you should transform into a dog and distract the guards with a game of fetch, if you think entrance can be gained so handily."

      _Salem, why in hell did you send me along with this...this wreck? Alistair has done nothing but speculate on how horrifically this could end; Morrigan done nothing but goad him and feed his insecurities. Why did you believe I would be best suited to play mediator?_

     "Keep quiet, the both of you." I snarled, snatching a rolled parchment from Alistair's hand. "You," I glared at him, "need to find in yourself the confidence that Salem places in you. And you," I turned to Morrigan, "in spite of your dislike of him,  _and_ your dislike of me..." I sighed. "...for the sake of sanity, either transform into a dog or cease being a  _bitch_."

     Burrow whined, pressing his head against the palm of my hand, anxious to know if I disapproved of him as well. 

     "Good boy." I scratched him behind his missing ear as I glared at my other two companions. 

     "That..." Alistair spoke. 

     "...was uncalled for." Morrigan finished, tilting her chin at its ubiquitous haughty angle. "What are you playing at, songstress? Attempting to wear Salem's mantle, are you?"

      _You cold, vile, heartless apostate._

     I pursed my lips, letting grief cross my eyes. "We both know that no one can take her place or don her mantle."

     "Then why are we even here?" Alistair kicked at the dirt with his boot. "Why are we attempting to take her place, to carry out a mission that we stand a chance of failing?"

     "Because Salem cannot, and who knows when she will even be well enough to stand, much less wield a sword." I spoke the bitter truth and left the two of them behind as I walked towards the guards. "So we must be her swords." I spoke to myself. 

     "The alienage is closed." a guard stepped in front of me. 

     I deepened the tone of my voice, attempting to erase my Orlesian accent. "We've been sent by Arl Eamon. Here," I extended the parchment I held to him, "papers of passage, officially sealed."

     The guard took the parchment, broke the seal, and unrolled it, glaring at the ink as though it befuddled him. 

     "What's your business in the alienage?" he asked. "Got a nasty plague rolling through. Regent Loghain says it's best to keep travel to a minimum."

     "Trade interests." I replied. "War may arise and plagues sweet through, but gold must keep moving or all the world stands still."

     The guard snorted. "True enough. Fine then. But no needless tarrying. Finish your lord's business and be on your way."

     "As you say." I mimicked Salem, turning my head and motioning the others to join me. 

     A disgruntled, nervous Alistair and a cross-armed Morrigan walked through the gate with me, Burrow trotting alongside the witch with his tongue hanging out. I shook my head, lost in thought as we searched the streets of the alienage. 

      _I know Salem hoped that Alistair would come into his own, to lead us and command us, as he soon must do for an entire nation. I have seen the strength he keeps locked inside him. He simply...he must learn to trust in his own judgment. However, he remains insecure._

     I bit my lip as we walked through the deserted streets of the alienage, letting the eerie and unnatural silence swirl around us. 

      _But who would not question themselves when faced with Salem? She is so certain, so adamantine in her decisions. None of the others know, though. she has told no one of her questions in the few moments when she can collect her thoughts and reflect on what she has done. She does not speak of the guilt she feels, the weight of the blood on her hands, the nightmares where she is forced to revisit every mistake._

     I glanced at Alistair, noting the crease in his brow, the set of his lips, and the way his worried eyes stayed ever in motion. He had always been a competent warrior, but never had confidence in his competence. He brought a sound, if somewhat disjointed, logic to our plans and discussions, but never counted his voice among those that were helpful. 

      _Salem is...much the same...but she presents us all we what we need to see. A fearless leader. A woman so intuitive she can ascertain the measure of one's soul in a heartbeat. The woman who mocks destiny and laughs in the face of death as though daring it to come for her._

     I thought of my lover, her broken body, her weakened state. 

      _And death has answered that challenge...so many times._

     "Well, well," Morrigan commented as a low hum of dialogue began to slip through the oppressive silence. "'Twould seem we have found the center of discord."

     A group of elves had gathered in front of a large, wood and stone structure. The four of us stopped, assessing the situation. I thought it wise to see what we might face, rather than charge blindly in. 

     "We will leave when we are given information!" a strong, feminine voice echoed across the streets. A young, elven woman with startling red hair stood in the midst of the crowd, yelling at a closed door. "Our fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, and children have been taken! Do you expect us to sit idly by as our loved ones vanish!? At least publish a list of the names of the dead, but do not hide away from us and give us silence alone!"

     The door opened and a man in armor strode out. "Are you trying to bring death early by disturbing the rest of the ill?" he glared at all assembled, then to the red-haired elf. "You...again. Clear off of this doorstep, you knife-eared harpy! You will have what you ask when we give it to you. Not before. Regent's orders."

     The door slammed and the elves stood silent before beginning to mutter and disseminate, leaving their ringleader behind. I walked forward, approaching from an angle where she could see me. I knew that weapons were forbidden to the alienage elves, but those locked in slavery often found ways to gather what they had been denied. And when they did gather them, they became quite skilled in the use of the forbidden. 

     She heard my footsteps and turned to face me, wrath filling her eyes as she realized that I was not one of her own, nor even elven. 

     "What do you want,  _shem?"_ she flung the insult at me like a dagger. "Have you come to gloat as my people suffer? Have you come to see us at the end of our hope?"

     "No." I shook my head and raised my hands.  _  
_

_I am not here to fight you. I am not here to cause harm. Maker, give me words. Lend me what you have given Salem. Help me._

     "I am Leliana of Orlais."

     "An introduction,  _shem_?" she bit. "Elves are also given names."

     "Then please, do me the honor of sharing yours." I replied, hoping that Morrigan and her acid would keep silent. 

     The elven woman tilted her chin, scrutinizing me. I felt uncomfortable beneath her gaze. My eyes did not shine with honesty. They did not remain calm in the fiercest of battles. I was not Salem. 

      _But I must act in this role. For the sake of the one I love._

     "Shianni." the elf relented. "My name is Shianni. Why in the Fade are you here?"

     "We've come on behalf of the Grey Warden, Salem Cousland." I took a deep breath. 

     "Cousland?" the elf asked, flicking her eyes to the ground, lost in thought. "The only noble house that never bound an elf as a slave? They gave a child to the wardens? What interest would a warden have in Denerim's alienage?"

     "We believe there is more amiss here than a plague." I answered, thanking the Maker that word of the Cousland's nobility had reached even these isolated streets. "We want to help you and your people, Shianni...if we can. Please, tell us what has transpired."

     Shianni ran her hand through her hair, casting her eyes warily about as Alistair and Morrigan approached. But her eyes sparked when she saw Burrow, and brightened further when the mabari moved closer to her, sniffed her offered hand, and promptly licked it. 

      _If only we all could learn from Burrow's mute, instinctual kindness. This world would be better._

     "There...there  _was_ a plague." she informed us. "Many of us fell ill, and nothing we could do would save our...our families. Then, the shems came with mages and guards. They took our ill and set up in that warehouse." she moved her chin towards the door of the building. "We have not been allowed to see our families, and no word has been sent of their condition. However, contingents of guards arrive by night, after curfew...more people always leave than arrive."

     "And why have you not tried to gather information about this matter yourselves?" Morrigan asked. 

     Burrow sensed my displeasure and growled at the witch, who promptly retreated a step and sealed her lips. Morrigan had little defense but her magic, and she could not risk showing it out in the open, in a place full of potential enemies who would run and inform the next available templar. 

     "As you plainly saw, words are ineffectual, and elves are forbidden to have weapons." Shianni glared at us as though we were the ones who had written those laws. "And any chance we have of a united front disappeared when our village elder was taken to the 'house of healing,' as they call it." she spat in the warehouse's direction. "He did not even seem to be ill."

     Taking a calculated risk, I placed my hand on her shoulder. "Go home, Shianni." I told her. "I swear to you, we will find out what has happened to your people."

     "There is a back door, and it is usually less guarded. If your true intent is to aid us...Creators be with you." Shianni's tone was acid. 

      _She does not believe our words...and who could blame her._

     The elf walked away and I gestured for Alistair and Morrigan to follow me. I circled around the warehouse, examining the outside of the structure, looking for windows and secret entrances...finding none. Alistair cursed as he stepped in a pile of something that had no discernable identity, save for a horrid stench. 

     Morrigan laughed under her breath as the poor warden scraped his boots on patches of grass and weeds, attempting to rid himself of the noxious smell. I closed my eyes and rolled them, disdainfully, beneath their lids. After only a few hours consistently listening to their bickering and burdened by their silent loathing of each other, I could not imagine how Salem had traveled from the Korcari Wilds to Lothering with only their company and her dog. 

      _It is enough to drive the sanest mind into abject madness._

     As we rounded another corner, I saw the door that Shianni had spoken of, eyeing the single guard that leaned against the wall. 

     I pulled a dagger and approached him, smiling. "Excuse me, kind sir," I tossed my hair and smiled as he glanced up. I drew closer, keeping my eyes lowered, reeling him in, luring him. "Could you tell me where I might find..."

     In a flash, my arm snapped up and I shoved my dagger through his chin, into his mouth, killing him and silencing whatever warning cry he might utter. I wrenched the blade out and cleaned it as the body collapsed. I knelt down and grasped the key attached to his belt, wrenching it away. 

     I climbed the stairs, leaving the others to stare from the dead body to me. Salem had heard all the tales of the Nightingale; she knew who I had been and who I was. She knew that I could kill without remorse, without a second thought. The others did not know. They did not know that the Chantry sister, whose flights of fancy about the Maker and Andraste waxed long and ridiculous, could slaughter a full squad of heavily armored chevaliers without batting an eye and breaking a sweat. 

     "That..." Alistair began. 

     "'Twas most expedient." Morrigan completed his thought...again. 

      _Salem...you had best pray that you are well enough to retaliate against when I return. This...this is nearly unforgivable._


	29. The Agony of Healing

**Salem**

    "Salem." insistence, impatience, and worry. "Salem, open your eyes."

     I did not follow the order. I kept my eyes closed, trying to shut out the waking world and the voices within it. I felt as though every ounce of strength had been wrung from my body. My skin was made of pain, my blood was acid coursing through my veins, my bones were dead earth, sundered by the shaking of the ground. 

     " _Salem_." the voice grew stronger. "I know you are awake, warden. Open your eyes,  _now_."

     I opened my eyes and adjusted to the glare of the light, noticing that it no longer sent pain shooting across my temples. Wynne's face greeted mine, and her lips, for the first time, wore a slight smile. 

     "Is...everything...all right?" I asked. 

     Wynne nodded. "All is well, Salem, barring that misfortune befalls our companions in the alienage." she answered, reaching for the bandages wrapped around my hand. 

     Slow, she unwound them, revealing the deep wound left in my hand by Cauthrien's knife, the bruising surrounding the injury. Even my nail beds were blackened. I did not understand. Wynne had said that she could not heal me...that the damage was too great, and I too weak to undergo more magic. 

     "Then why...wake me?" I wondered. 

     "You probably do not remember falling asleep after Alistair and the others left." Wynne said, speaking the truth. I did not remember. "The Maker has chosen to bless you. Your fever has broken, and I thought that you would prefer I heal you sooner as opposed to the alternative."

     "No." I shook my head, unable to comprehend or imagine more pain. 

     "As I thought." she pressed a glass against my lips. "Drink. I have taken the liberty of adding some herbs that will ease your pain. It will not be nearly as effective as the poppy syrup Leliana gave you, but it should help."

     I drank the mixture that Wynne offered, wincing at the bitter taste of the herbs.  _I hate this feeling of uselessness as much as I dread the agony of healing. Please, dear Maker, give me the strength to endure this._

     "Do...what you must." I said, wishing that I could be stronger, wishing that Loghain and Cauthrien's torture had not reduced me to this...this weak, pathetic shell. 

     "Very well." Wynne's eyes filled with regret and sympathy. "Salem, I do apologize. I have studied healing magic from my youth; worked as a journeyman healer for decades...I have never chanced upon an individual with a seemingly hereditary aversion to magic. I have scoured my mind these last hours, trying to find some technique, remember some spell that would help me accomplish this without causing you pain."

     "I appreciate your effort, Wynne. I could have told you it was useless."

     I, too, had spent a great deal of my youth in the Cousland library, researching our histories of magic, attempting to discover why healing affected me in such a strange manner. My father had never informed me that he had shared the same reaction...that we held a similar weakness in our blood. 

     "Do forgive me." Wynne turned her attention to the battered wreck that was my body. "Maker's breath," she muttered, speaking to herself, "where do I even begin?"

     "My hand." I requested, staring at the wreck of it. If the muscles and bone were not mended properly, that hand would never hold a sword again. "It feels wrong."

     "Ever the warrior." Wynne took my hand between her weathered palms. "You do not even have the power to stand and you are asking that I first mend your hand."

     I laughed under my breath, feeling my ribs twinge. "Please, Wynne."

     "As you wish." she sighed, extending a roll of bandaging. "Bite down on this...no need to have the entire house rush in."

      _Leliana,_ I thought as I allowed Wynne to place the cloth between my teeth,  _I am glad that you are with Alistair, trying to save this country that is not even truly your own. But...I must admit that I wish for you here, at my side._

     Wynne closed her eyes and sank into he rmagic. A blue glow surrounded her fingertips and spindled slowly into the knife wound in the palm of my hand. I bit down on the cloth as a scream tore out of my throat. Wynne flinched at the sound and broke my heart. It broke my heart that I could not impart any comfort to the woman healing me...that I could not express the relief that washed through others when she helped them. I was...too broken. 

      _I'm...sorry..._ even my thoughts gasped for breath.  _Your gift...ends suffering. Why?_ Makers... **fucking**...breath... _ **why!?**_

     The flow of magic ceased and my muscles relaxed as the immediate pain ended. Tiny aftershocks rippled through me as the healer pursed her lips, assessing her work. 

     "Salem, can you move your hand?" she asked. 

     I flexed the muscles, curling my fingers into a fist and extending them back out, repeating the movement several times. It felt sore, tense, but no longer agonizing. I lifted my hand into my sight, noticing the thick, red, puckered scar nestled in and amidst the spiderwebbing blue scars from the dragon's blood. 

      _How long will it be until there is no unmarred part of my body?_ I wondered.  _Until all I am is a wreck of flesh and cracked bone? When that moment comes, will the world at last give me peace? Too long have I thought that the end of the archdemon would return my life to me. As this journey continues, I am no longer certain. I am beginning to think that I shall never know another day of rest._

     "Excellent." Wynne placed the back of her hand against my forehead, then rested her fingers against the pulse point at my neck. "Your heart rate is elevated, but not dangerously so. Your temperature is steady. I do not wish to overburden you, Salem, but it would be in all of our best interests to have you up and about again. I know the arl is eager to discuss your strategy for the Landsmeet."

      _I know. There is so much that remains to be done. We lost precious time while I was chained in Howe's dungeons._

     I spat the roll of bandaging from my mouth and locked eyes with the senior enchanter. "Do it." I said, bracing myself for an agony that would rival that of my torture. "Everything. As much as you can."

     Wynne squeezed my newly healed hand in her own, a mother's sorrow in her eyes. "I will not endanger your life by healing you." she chuckled. "As ludicrous as that sounds. I will do what I can to take you out of harm's way. You will still be in no condition to fight, but you will no longer be bedridden."

     "A mercy that." I replied with a wry grin as Wynne replaced the cloth between my teeth. 

     A strong wave of magic rippled through my body and I felt it burning beneath my skin, as though my blood had been replaced with lava. My heart screamed as it began beating faster; my lungs felt as though they were being slowly stripped apart, layer by layer, with razors. I screamed and tears flooded my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. 

     The cloth between my lips fell away and my cries echoed off the stone floors. 

     "No more!" I cried, begging like a child. "Maker's blood,  _Wynne, **please!** "_ 

     The mage did not respond; kept forcing her magic into my body. I began trembling, shaking as healing magic wracked and ravaged my body. I ground my teeth together, forcing myself to breathe as black hovered at the edges of my vision. 

     "I am finished." Wynne whispered, removing her hands from my body and catching her breath. "Salem, child...are you all right?"

     I could not speak. Her magic still rushed through my veins, paralyzing me in a sea of nothing but pain. I could only look at her with tear-filled eyes. 

     "I know, my child, I know." she cleaned the sweat and tears from my skin. "You can rest now."

     "Th...thank you." I panted, feeling a sensation of numbness begin to wash over me. Wynne's herbs taking effect. 

     "Forgive me, Salem." Wynne apologized for her gifts...gifts which had restored life, brought hope, and saved countless lives, including my own, many times."

      _You should never feel the need to apologize for this, Wynne. Not even to me._

     I closed my eyes, knowing that when next I woke, there would be no rest for the weary. 

      _There are miles...still to go._


	30. The Selling of Flesh

**Leliana**

    "This is wrong." I whispered as we entered the warehouse. 

     There were too few lights for it to be a "House of Healing". A few weak torches guttered in the corners, spitting foul smoke into the air. No windows were open to ventilate it...and beneath the acrid smoke the room stank of sweat, sickness, and fear. Nothing more. Healing magic had a particular scent, as did elfroot, valerian, and other herbs used for healing. I could smell none of these. 

     "I agree." Alistair nodded. "There should be beds, supplies... _people."_

"Are we quite through stating what is before our eyes?" Morrigan asked, impatiently inspecting the room. "There is nothing here. We should return to the elves and tell them that it is naught but deception. Let them sort it out for themselves."

      _As if they can?_ I fumed. _They have no weapons, no trained soldiers...nothing to even begin to defend themselves with. You stone-hearted bitch._

     "There  _is_ something here." I stated. 

     "I..." Alistair glanced around and tugged at the straps of his gorget, "...I agree with Morrigan."

     "Do attempt to deepen that grimace, Alistair." Morrigan teased. "I do not believe you have conveyed the truest extent of your feelings."

     "Both of you, hush." I snarled, feeling as though I had been sent to mind children...children with deadly weapons and lethal skills, but children nonetheless. "I...I know there is something to be found here."

     "How?" they asked in unison. 

     I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, understanding why Salem repeated this action many times within the day. Already a dull pain began to throb between my temples. But I had made a promise to the woman I loved. Not just to find Loghain's role in this, but to do as she would do, and help those who did not have the means and power to save themselves. 

     "Due to the nature of it all." I replied, gesturing to the empty room. "By the mere presence of seeming nothingness, it indicates that  _something_  must, in fact, be here, even if that  _something_ is the absence of anything."

      _Look for the voids, nightingale,_ ancient words from Marjolaine echoed in my ears.  _Seek them out. There is always something to be found in vacant places, because such places are not natural. This is where we are different from the rabble, pretty thing. We see what is not there for **what it is.**_

     "How Salem endures your rambling prattle is beyond my comprehension." Morrigan lifted her hand, waving it in dismissal. "But since my alternatives are to search this place until I lose consciousness from the stench, or wait in the even filthier alley with..." she glanced at Alistair, "...that, do lead on."

     "Do forgive me if remaining here damages your delicate constitution." I seethed, venturing further into the room. 

      _I have always admired you with your patience, Salem, but I never understood how far it truly extended. After a few candlemarks in the company of these two, I am quite willing to tear out my hair. How do you even begin to manage to keep the rest of us focused? How do you yourself keep your mind in order?_

     A brighter light flickered in the corner of the room, a bright oil lamp amidst the guttering, smoky torches. I edged closer, signalling the others to keep silent. As I drew nearer the light, voices met my ears, speaking a harsh language...I recognized it as Antivan. 

      _What in hell are Antivans doing in a Ferelden alieange?_ _This smacks of treason. High treason._ A shudder rippled through me.  _A crime for which I, and now Salem, have experienced punishment, though neither of us committed it. And I highly doubt that whoever is perpetrating this crime is suffering for it in some dungeon hell._

     I crept forward, keeping to the shadows, wishing Zevran were here to translate what was being said. I could ask a few questions and say a few greetings in Antivan, but beyond that, I had no knowledge of the language. 

     Morrigan followed close behind me, her footsteps as silent as a wolf in the woods. Burrow hung back, intelligent enough to understand that silence was needed, and that even the clacking of his nails against the wood of the floors would alert the inhabitants. Fortunately, when we had been speaking, we were too far away to be heard. Alistair, however, possessed the grace of a darkspawn ogre. 

     A stumble, trip, and curse, and we were found out. Morrigan pinched her eyes shut and shook her head as the hushed, foreign words became shouts, as alarm fired through the room. 

     I darted behind a wooden support beam and waited. Morrigan followed suit, both of us allowing Alistair to bait however many enemies there might be. A dark, armored figure passed by me and I slipped from the shadows, gently sliding my knife between the plates of his armor and, silently, into his body. He fell without a sound, bleeding out from a severed artery. 

     "Leli!" Alistair shouted, shattering what little stealth was left to us. "Behind you!"

     I ducked under a massive blow that could have severed my head from my body, had it connected. I rolled away from my attacker, who did not follow, stopped by the icicles protruding from his throat. With a nod of thanks to Morrigan, I rose to my feet, scanning the area for more enemies. 

     I edged closer to the flickering light, clenching the hilts of my daggers. Another armored form stepped from the shadows, holding a crossbow before him. He angled his head slightly, letting the light illuminate it. It was the man who had turned the elves away...the man who spoke with a Ferelden accent. 

     "Stay where you are." he ordered all of us. "Lest I loose this bolt. Lay down your weapons."

      _Damn it!_ I knelt, slow, measured, setting my blades onto the ground.  _I have failed in this before I even truly began!_ I rose, keeping my hands in sight, fingers spread. 

     "All of you!" he barked. 

     I heard a staff tossed to the ground with a disgusted sigh and Alistair's sword set down in the same manner as my own. 

     "Very good." he smiled. "You, red-hair, follow me. I am going to the door to call for the city guard. You others...Do. Not. Move."

     I swallowed the lump in my throat as my hands began to tremble.  _No. Not guards. Not lawmen...not dungeons, interrogations...no. Please, Maker, have mercy. Spare my life. Do not make me endure it again._

     The crossbow string whined as the men fell to the floor, a snarling mabari at his throat. The bolt whispered through my hair and sank into the wall behind me. I took a moment to compose myself as Alistair snatched up his sword and ran to the man, ending his life. 

     "Are you well, Leliana?" Morrigan asked, though her disinterest was evident. 

      _Salem...I think...I think you are mistaken. As individuals, we are strong, but even if we merge our strength, without you to guide that strength...we are as nothing._

     "I am fine." I brushed past her, moving towards the table. 

     Alistair joined me as I began searching through the papers stacked there and rifling through the contents of the drawers. He lifted a sheaf of parchment from beneath a brandy decanter and scrutinized it. 

     "I recognize this seal." he muttered. "It is the signet of House Mac Tir." he ran his eyes across the written words, his brow creasing as he did so. "But I cannot read what is written."

     "I  _knew_ you were incapable of understanding the written word." Morrigan snatched the papers from his hand, her voice ringing with triumph. "Perhaps Salem should be informed of this deficit before she places a crown on your head." She glanced at the papers and grimaced. "Oh...I see."

     "Ha." Alistair replied, vindicated. 

     "Andraste's ass." I swore, quoting Salem. I extended my hand, "Let me look at them." Morrigan handed me the papers and I read over the lines of text. "It is written in Orlesian." I informed them. 

     "Loghain Mac Tire hates Orlais with a passion that borders on fanaticism." Alistair mused as I continued reading. "Why in hell would his seal be on papers written in Orlesian?"

     I folded the papers and tucked them into a pouch on my quiver. "Loghain may want nothing to do with Orlesian rule, but he will not shy away from receiving Orlesian gold. Those are slaving contracts, not only with Orlais, but with Antiva, Nevarra, and Tevinter as well. Ferelden's elves are being sold into slavery to feed Loghain's coffers."

     "We have all the proof we need." Morrigan smiled like a predatory cat. 

     Alistair nodded, though he still seemed to be made uncomfortable by agreeing with the witch. 

      _They speak true. We have been sent to gather incriminating information against Loghain, and we have it. However, there are still elves that are missing. These contracts have been written, but perhaps they have not yet been fulfilled. I have to see this through to the end, as Salem would. I must save whomever I may, no matter the cost._

     "We cannot claim success just yet." I said. "We gave our word to the elves that we would find their missing. Our mission is fulfilled, but our promise is not."

     "I understand." Alistair agreed with me for the first time since we had entered the building. 

     Morrigan sighed and rolled her eyes. "Well, shall we move along? I should like to enjoy the amenities of Eamon's estate at  _some_ juncture."

      _If Salem were here, saying the same things as I, Morrigan would fall in line without a murmur. But no. This is so endlessly **frustrating!**_

     "The documents list instructions for delivery of the slaves." I replied, glaring daggers at the witch. "If you will, follow me."

     I took the lead, listening to Morrigan mutter behind my back. I did not care. All that mattered was my promise, first to Salem, and then to the elves. The papers I possessed would dig Loghain's grave, but no one would champion the elves once Loghain's illicit trade came to light. No one would help them, and the fact that my assumption was truth was  _reprehensible_.

      _This must be resolved._ I steeled myself for the battles to come. _Now._


	31. The Vagaries of Nobility

**Salem**

    It felt strange to be on my feet once again. I moved through the halls of Eamon's estate, leaning heavily on the wall as I attempted to discover how much my body could do. Wynne had said that I was permitted to walk, provided I moved slow and took great care not to over-exert myself. 

     The wounds on my back, the deep incision on my left side, and the punctures left in my abdomen and thigh from Cauthrien's boots, were still raw and angry, aching and burning as I moved, but Wynne assured me that her magic had mended the damage beneath the skin. It would be best to let the surface damage heal on its own, in the natural way. Healing magic did not, as many thought, take raw power and mend the wound. Instead, it wove itself into the body and accelerated the natural healing process. What Wynne had done had left me weak, ravenous, and thirsty, but I was no longer bedridden, and beyond grateful for that fact. 

     I moved down the stairs, grasping the railing for support, taking one step at a time. Eamon had asked to see me, and his servant had told me that he was in his office...at the other end of his estate, and down the stairs. Sweat broke out on my forehead as I reached the lower floor and I paused to catch my breath before walking down the hall and reaching Eamon's door. I knocked and waited. 

     "Come in." the arl called, soft. 

     I entered the room and closed the door behind me, leaning against it as my knees went watery. "You wished to speak to me?"

     Eamon looked up from his desk. His brows raised and he stood, crossing the room and extending his arm. I grasped it, thankful for his aid as he guided me to a chair and helped me sit. 

     "You look positively unwell, Salem." he frowned behind his beard. "Are you certain that you should be up and about?"

     I sat up in the chair, knowing that to put any pressure on my back would cause me to double over and lose my breath. "There is a senior enchanter who might agree with you," I forced a smile, "but I cannot sit idly by while others wage war in my name."

     Eamon chuckled and resumed his seat, stroking his beard with a weathered hand. "Spoken like a Cousland." he murmured. "Though it is in the name of Ferelden that we wage war."

     "Because of a Blight, which requires wardens. Last I recall, I possessed that title." I smirked, trying to make light of a grave situation. 

     "You possess a far more important title in this Landsmeet." Eamon sat up and began sorting through the papers on his desk. "You speak for House Cousland, which is still the most respected family in the land."

     "I have my doubts as to the truth of that now." I laced my fingers together and looked into the soot-stained black of the past. "Loghain has had a great deal of time to spread vicious rumors about the reasons Highever was sacked. Many believe him. After all, he is a war hero, the queen's father...and the self-appointed regent of the realm."

     Eamon nodded, solemn. "However," he cleared his throat, "word has reached my ears that Queen Anora will be taking the warden's side in the Landsmeet. That is most fortuitous. There are those in the bannorn who would prefer the crown stay in the hands of Mac Tir, though not in the hands of Loghain himself. We have gained quite the advantage with Anora's support."

     "Indeed."

      _Thank you, Leliana. I do not know what transpired between you in the queen, but I heard from her lips that you are the reason that not all of Loghain's dogs are set against us._

     "Beyond your pallor and shadow-stained eyes, there is something darker." Eamon observed. "What troubles you, Salem?"

     I ran my hand through my hair, wincing as I realized how terribly it needed washing. I needed to bathe as well, though I almost feared to see the aftermath of the damage done my body. 

     "I will not deny that I have my share of worries." I admitted. "You spoke of those who still favor Anora as queen. Truth be told, most of us will admit that she was the true ruler of Ferelden, and Cailan simply the inheritor of Maric's name. But...but she cannot be trusted with the rule of Ferelden. However...will the nobles of Ferelden accept the throne being given to Maric's bastard son? How will we prove his parentage, Eamon?"

     "Teagan and I can vouch for that." Eamon assured me. "Maric's indiscretion occured at Redcliffe. Loghain and your father were there as well. The former, I am certain, will not be amenable to corroborating the tale."

     "And the latter is dead." I sighed, feeling as though all the world were set against me. "What can we do, Eamon?" I asked the more experienced politician. "What can we do to further cement Alistair's claim to the throne? There has to be  _something_."

     Eamon frowned. "Cailan left no heir to the throne." he said. "Loghain, in his greed, has kept Anora from making another match that could produce a child, though many have payed court to her. I am certain we could use this to our advantage. I've simply yet to discover the how of it."

     A thought slipped into my mind, shocking me. It was wrong, so very, damnably wrong that I dismissed it. However, Eamon had studied my face, watching the notion come and depart. His brows furrowed. 

     "What are you thinking of, Salem?"

     "Have Alistair wed Anora." I spat out the thought, regretting the words as they left my lips. 

      _Yes, Salem. You, who have railed against destiny and the gods until you were blue in the face and shaking with fury, are thinking of ripping the choice for love from the man who is your brother. He has been as unselfish as I in every decision...he even agreed to take the throne he did not desire. But to do this...to orchestrate a marriage between him and Anora...a woman he scarcely knows, and **would not** ever come to love...how dare I even present the idea? _

     Eamon mulled over the thought, pursing his lips. The silence grew thick and heavy as I waited for his response. 

     "There is no way that such an alliance would weaken our position." he spoke at last. "And it would ally those who favor Mac Tire and those who favor Theirin. Our vote in the Landsmeet could double, provided that Alistair and Anora agree to the arrangement."

     "No." I spoke, vehement. "No. I...I could not in good conscience persuade Alistair to take to wife a woman he does not know. A woman whose father effectively killed the man that Alistair held in the highest regard, and loved as a father. You must forget that I even voiced the notion, Arl Eamon. I will not allow it."

     "This bell cannot be un-rung, Salem. And if you wish Alistair to come into his own, you cannot persist in making his decisions for him." Eamon's words, true as they might have been, grated against me. "This is a sound strategy, and I know the boy will listen to reason, if given proper impetus and persuasion."

     I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose as I sagged in the chair. Pain sliced through my back and I sat up, regretting the action as my ribs voiced their discomfort and I doubled over from the twin sensations of borderline agony. Eamon rose and I lifted my hand, motioning for him to sit back down. I gritted my teeth and sat back up, attempting to regain my breath and my words. 

     "Eamon..." I took a careful, shallow breath, "...you are right...in that I have made...the majority of Alistair's decisions since Ishal." I managed at last to fill my lungs and conquer the last aftershocks of pain. "But this is not a decision I am attempting to ake for him. You know, better than any, that Alistair had very little to begin with. His true father never acknowledged him, you were forced to abandon him, and he loathed his life both in the Chantry and as a templar. The wardens were the sole family he had...Duncan was like his father. Wardens have no free will, Eamon. Our destiny is set in stone, to battle the Blights and keep Thedas secure against the darkspawn. Alistair's destiny is worse than even ours, due to the complications of his royal blood. I will not ask this of him, Eamon. I will not take one of the  _few_ choices that is his, away from him. I  _will not_."

     "Salem," Eamon spoke, almost condescending, "you are wise, for your years, but you must understand. In circumstances such as this, where time is of the utmost essence, where men must unite or be damned. These are the trials of those with titles and noble blood.  _Sacrifices **must be** made."_

    I looked directly into the arl's eyes, feeling fire behind my own. He had age, and the wisdom from it, but I would  _not_ allow the word 'sacrifice' to be flung in my face. Not from Eamon's lips, not from Loghain's, not even from the Maker himself.

     "Do  _not_ attempt to lecture me on the nature of sacrifice." I warned him. "The horrid state in which you find me is proof of my  _intimate_ knowledge of that word  _and_ its meaning. You are a most valuable ally, Arl Eamon, and I respect you because my father held and Alistair holds you in high esteem. However, you will do the me the courtesy of not patronizing me with the pretty, idealistic words that the nobility is fond of flinging around. I have made sacrifices that would  _shatter_ a lesser man."

     "I see." The set of Eamon's features made my heart sink. He would not capitulate easily. "Do you consider Alistair a lesser man?"

      _No. Not that. Damn you and your politicking, Eamon. You would twist my words in order to cast me as a villain and encourage to make reparations by acquiescing to your wishes. I see now the reason my father wished to abstain from court functions._

     "Not in the least." I growled, attempting to curb the acid in my voice. "It is because he is  _not_ a lesser man that I ignore what would be a beneficial alliance. I believe that Alistair has the right to choose what little destiny he has left. If you feel you must, you may broach the subject of matrimony with Anora upon his return. However, if you dare mention that I spoke of it..."

     "Very well." Eamon lifted a hand to stop my speech. "You may go, Salem. There is much preparation to be done before the Landsmeet, and you look far past the point of wretched. You should attempt to recoup some of your strength."

     "As you say." I rose from my seat, hissing and pressing my hand to my side as my ribs and back protested the movement. 

      _I suppose I must forego the departure in high dudgeon._

     "Salem," Eamon spoke as I rested my hand against the door, "there is...another option, and one quite as beneficial to our cause, and less of a conflict with your...qualms."

     "What might that be?" I asked, turning to face him once more as my interest rose. 

     "Cousland is, as I said, still a highly respectedhouse. There would be more of the bannorn who would support our case were there to be an alliance of marriage between the houses of Cousland and Theirin."

     Everything inside my mind turned to a terrible shade of stark clarity. My heart began pounding in my chest as fury curled into a hard knot in my guts. I was quite certain that my eyes spat fire as they glared at Eamon, daring him to finish his idea. 

     "Are you saying..." I could not fathom the thought. 

     "Yes." Eamon's iron gaze bored into me, unafraid of the scars of death written in my eyes. "Give Ferelden hope, Salem. Give them you and Alistair, joined by the Maker's hand. In matrimony."


	32. The Villainies of Man

**Leliana**

    We moved out of the warehouse and slipped between two more dilapidated buildings, through a dingy alleyway. Morrigan covered her nose to ward off the stench of decay and waste. Burrow whined, wishing for hands so that he could mimic the witch and save his poor, sensitive nose from the assault. 

     "I cannot imagine that Cailan never turned his eyes to these streets." Alistair spoke, wincing as he inhaled. "He...he was not a bad man."

     "Just a thoughtless one." I said, examining the alley walls for the hidden door mentioned in the contract's instructions for pickup of the merchandise. 

      _Merchandise...as though flesh and blood is something that could be bartered and sold._

     "Thoughtlessness is quite the worst trait for a monarch." Morrigan inserted her opinion. "Though ignorance could perhaps be worse. Thank the spirits that Alistair possesses both in great quantity."

     I stopped my searching and rested my forehead against the damn wood of the building as my headache intensified. 

      _Maker's breath, is there no respite from the incessant bickering? How many intolerant words can be exchanged in the space of a day?_

Not for the first time, I found myself longing for Salem. Her presence alone could calm a raging storm, no matter the situation.  _I need your strength, my love._

     " _Must_ your every word goad and demoralize?" I asked, feeling the edges of my patience fray. 

     Morrigan smiled, catty. "Perhaps my mood could be elevated by locating the door leading out of this cesspool."

     "All is well, Leliana." Alistair grumbled, shoving past me in search for the door. "I myself know that I would be a  _terrible_ king. Setting me on the throne is Salem's gambit. She knows I want no part of it."

     I joined him in his search, worried by the anger I saw in his normally smiling eyes. "Alistair," I placed my hand on his shoulder, bringing his gaze to mine, "you are not thoughtless, or ignorant. You are one of the kindest, most noble men I have ever known. The chance for a man like you to be in power is...is a very rare and precious gift indeed. I know you want no part of Salem's gambit, as you call it, but it  _will_ be what is best for Ferelden."

     He smiled. "I know you are trying to be kind, Leliana. I am all right, truly. I have accepted the fact that, if all goes as planned, I will take Cailan's place. But, in all earnest truth, I think it should be Salem who wears the crown." he kicked the dirt. "It was meant for Cousland first, after all."

      _So Alistair, too, knows the story._ I mused, thinking on what he had said.  _Salem is many things, but a life on the throne would...kill her. The constant compromise, the inability to change things with one's own hand...no. It is not her way. Her mind is suited to the work, but it would exsanguinate her soul._

     "You are far better suited for the monarchy than she." I told him the truth. 

     Alistair had been a very pliant man in the time I had known him, since I had joined the warden's party, in fact. He had been ever willing to compromise, to let Salem lead us and support her in her decisions. But there was a strength in him, the same strength that Salem knew existed. The strength that she trusted in. With wisdom, pliance could become the ability to compromise, a necessity for a king. It was an ability that my warden lacked. 

     "You believe that?" Alistair asked. "In truth?"

     "I do." I nodded. 

     Alistair allowed himself a small smile. "I suppose you would know, being a bard and all."

     "I have stood before kings, princes, and regents, Alistair." I told him. "Many of them are wicked men who once had pure intent, but the craving for power destroyed them. It will not be so with you. I can sense that."

     "You have more faith in me than I have in myself." the future king reached out, running his hand across the walls. 

     I heard a catch snap and turned towards the sound, examining the wall, smiling as I caught sight of a well-concealed latch. I withdrew my lockpicks and inserted them into the lock, forsaking all conversation. We had made a promise to the elves, and by all that I held sacred, I would fulfill it. 

      _If I can end the loss of life,_ _I will._ I swore, remembering a dark night in the Frostback mountains when I had lost a family of three. The cries as they were torn apart by the darkspawn still echoed in my ears. My dreams were haunted by the memory of drawing a ragged blade across a young woman's throat as she pleaded to die.  _I will not let another child watch their parents slaughtered. I will not endure another woman's cries as she cradles her dead child in her arms._

     The lock gave way and the door opened, revealing a darkened hallway. Alistair entered first, the longer range of his weapon guaranteeing more safety in these close quarters. I followed behind him and Morrigan and Burrow brought up the rear, the light from her staff illuminating our dank, fetid surroundings. 

     The heavy moisture in the air, in addition to the immense heat in the room had cause black mold to grow along the planks of board. The floor squelched beneath my boots, and I looked down to see dirt, hardened by the trampling of feet. 

     "What in the abyss have we stumbled into?" Morrigan asked, for the first time showing interest in our mission. 

     A soft hissing struck the air and the hallway before us lightened. I looked to the warm magefire wrapped at the top of Morrigan's staff and nodded in silent appreciation. I looked back into the hallway, stomach clenching as I saw huddled figures cowering against the wall. 

     "This is a holding cell." I answered the witch's inquiry, my voice tight. "The plague was a ruse."

     "How do you know?" Alistair asked, surveying the hallway and the rooms with horror. 

     As we moved further in, the stench of unwashed bodies grew almost overpowering and though we spoke, none of them spoke to us. I knew what held them captive. It was fear. We were humans...we were their enemy. We were those who had...who had done this to them. 

     "It is the only way this atrocity would go unnoticed and unquestioned by nobles with a functioning moral compass." I hypothesized. "There are a few left in this country, which is more than I can say for Orlais. I do believe there was a plague, but it was spread with purpose, on Loghain's orders. He targed those who would make the most marketable slaves. The intelligent, the strong, and the beautiful. Most of these," I examined the shadowed figures, "are women. And many of them are, more likely than not, virgins." I shuddered with disgust. 

     "This is barbarous." the venom in Morrigan's voice startled me. 

     Rarely had I seen the witch portray any sort of human emotion, but every now and again she displayed something...redeemable. The look on Alistair's face only further cemented my belief in him. His features were stamped with a righteous indignation that was absolute and terrible to behold. 

     "Morrigan," I called her as I stepped into one of the rooms, "I need your light."

     The witch followed without argument or hesitation. Alistair remained in the hallways, guarding the door should any unwanted visitors arrive. I knelt down before a trembling, young elven maiden. She tucked her head against her chest and shied away from me as my hand reached out towards her shoulder. I understood her fear intimately. I had known it myself after being saved from the dungeons of Val Royeaux. It had taken years for me to be comfortable with another's touch. 

     "It is all right." I spoke to her, keeping my voice low, gentle, as though I spoke to a frightened animal. "I am not here to harm you."

     She peered out at me from behind her lank, stringy hair, defiance sparking in her large terrified eyes. 

     "Take me." she whispered, frantic. "Please, take me. Do not...do not take my baby, please, I will give you anything.  _Anything._ "

     My heart rose into my throat and anger flared behind my eyes as I saw the sleeping. precious child cradled in the woman's arms. The roar in my already pounding head intensified. 

      _They have taken **children!?**_

     "I will not harm you." I promised her. "And I swear that nothing will befall your baby. My name is Leliana. I have spoken with Shianni, and I am here to help you."

     "Sh...Shianni?" the young woman asked, hope lighting her eyes. "You...you were sent...by Shianni?"

      _She seems to trust the name. Perhaps the fire-haired maiden possesses more of a reputation than I thought._

     "You know her?" I asked. 

     "M...my cousin." the woman stammered. "I am glad...she's...not here."

     "She is safe, and well." I assured her. "And you will be as well. We are here to get you out."

     "No." she clutched at my arm with a grimy hand. "No, you mustn't. We cannot leave. There are," she whispered, "wards on the door. Magic of some sort. They alert the guards to who enters and exits...I've heard them speak of it."

      _Damn it. They've known we were here the entire time._

     "We have to go." I spoke to Morrigan and Alistair. "She says that the door is warded; that they know who enters and exits. We have to follow this to the end. Stay here." I told the elf, rising and backing towards the door. "We will come back when it is safe to leave."

     Her eyes glazed over, turning cold and bitter as hope drained away. "It is never safe, shemlen." she whispered. "It is never safe for us. Please...should you see her again...tell Shianni that...that Kallian sends her love."

     "We  _will_ be back." I swore. "And you may tell her yourself."


	33. The Defense of Love Itself

**Salem**

    "Have. You. Lost. Your. Mind?" I turned away from the door, leaving it closed. 

     I strode to Eamon's desk as fury boiled through my veins. It elongated my strides, but I did not feel the pain. My body remained silent as my heart screamed with unfathomable rage. 

      _After all I have given, all I have **sacrificed,** you would ask me to give up hope for  **my** future? How dare you, you overzealous, politicking, interfering  **bastard!?**_

"You must admit the idea has merit." Eamon laced his fingers together and set them against his lips, imagining an impossible future. "Cousland and Thierin joined by marriage. Add to that the possibility of a child...it would be the most secure future Ferelden could know."

      _But at what cost, Eamon? At what personal cost? Wardens are given a set number of years. We have so little to look forward to, and you would strip that from me **and** Alistair!? And...and children!? I have not had my courses since the Joining. I am quite certain I can no longer bear children. _

     "My answer is no." I placed my hands on his desk, for emphasis and support as my body rebelled against me. 

     I gasped, feeling as though I had been kicked in the gut by a dragon. My heart raced in my chest and my still healing ribs throbbed. 

     Eamon looked up at me, his watery eyes glinting as he laid plans for war, a war in which Alistair's and my choices would be the casualties. 

     "Spoken with all the impetuousness of the young. What reason do you have to refuse, Salem?" 

      _Leliana,_ her name brought lightning to my eyes.  _You would have me abandon the woman whose love and devotion **carried me through hell?** No. A thousand, bleeding, furious  **hells** of no._  

     "My reasons are my own." I answered, refusing to hang my head, refusing to capitulate. 

     Eamon remained in his chair, unruffled. "You said that the wardens have no free will." he began to turn my words against me. "Nobles have even less, and you are both warden  _and_ noble. We are bound by blood to our country. Our duty is first to our people, even though it might lead us to forsake our own hearts. Had Bryce and Eleanor survived, Salem, they would have arranged a politically valuable and relevant marriage for you."

     "They would have done no such thing." I spat. "Nothing was gained by Fergus' union to Oriana. My father and mother married for love. My brother married for love, and I..."

     "You were the youngest child." Eamon smiled, but it was grim. "The bartering chip of your family, as it were, whether you choose to see it in that light or not. You and Fergus would not have been given the same choice. If one should wed for love, then one must wed for duty."

     "Do you remember  _anything_ of the man my father was?" I seethed, straining to contain my anger. "You know  _nothing_ of my family's ways."

     "And you have delusions of their grandeur." Eamon argued back, a slight heat entering his tone. "But since you persist in the subject of your family, Salem, I ask that you  _think of them._ You are the last member of House Cousland. I know the reason for your hesitation in this matter, but consider,  _this_. How much would it damage your country; how much would it pain your family to see their daughter...in a childless love?" _  
_

"You will seal your lips, Eamon." I cautioned him. "I will not be guilted into considering this. I refuse to allow another to torment me with my family's ghosts. Do _not_ mention this again. As for a childless love...you need look no further than Cailan and Anora to see that the right parts do not always produce the desired result."

     I turned on my heel, clenching my fists until my nails cut into my palm.  _You knew Bryce Cousland during the war, Eamon; you did not know him after. Still, you must realize **one** thing. He  **refused** the crown. He who most deserved the throne denied it. So that he might live in peace and raise his children to do the same._ 

     I started for the door, intent on being done with this conversation. I would not be chained. I would make the same decision as my father and deny the crown. For Alistair's sake. And my own. 

     "You would be loved." Eamon spoke, soft, halting my footsteps once again. 

      _"What?"_ I asked, not understanding. 

     "Alistair would love you." Eamon answered as I turned to face him once more. "I know the boy cares for you, Salem. It shines in his eyes when he speaks of you, gleams from his skin when he looks at you. If only you could have seen him the night he aided in your rescue from the dungeons. His heart was broken; he was inconsolable."

      _I know, Eamon. I know of Alistair's emotions in regards to me. I love him...as I loved Fergus. As my brother, nothing more. It will never be his voice I long for at first light. It will never be his touch I crave as evening falls. I. Will. **Never.** Love. Him._ 

     "Would that not be worth the sacrifice?" Eamon entreated, clearly enamored of this strategy, unwilling to let it die. "To be secure, to aid your land, beside one who loves you? Would that not be enough?"

     "Think back to your previous words, Eamon." I spoke, my heart burning me from the inside out. "You said you know the reasons for my hesitance. You also said that Alistair  _aided_ in my rescue.  _Aided_." I repeated the word. "Do you know  _who_ rescued me, Eamon?"

     The arl frowned. "The Orlesian who travels with you. Some sort of minstrel, I believe."

      _More, Arl Eamon. So much more than merely that._

     "Leliana." I spoke her name as though it were my breath, my heart, the sole force driving my existence. "A woman who was tortured for a fortnight in the dungeons of Val Royeaux. A woman who fought her  _every_ instinct and  _ **slaughtered**_ her own  _soul_ to save my life. She has held me while I lay injured. She has sung to me to draw me out of nightmares. She has made this hell that is my existence livable. I draw breath because she stands beside me. I fight for Ferelden because  _she_  is in Thedas. Tell me, Eamon, would you turn your back on that for a land that has no use for you?"

     "I would." he answered, without hesitation. 

     I furrowed my brow and frowned, examining his countenance. He had set his mouth in a firm line, his jaw straight, angular, booking no arguments. But misgiving shone out from his eyes. He was lying to me, and I knew it. 

      _You are a hypocrite, Arl Eamon. And you are the man who turned his back on an orphaned, ten year old boy because your youthful, beautiful, **foreign** wife felt it was a disgrace to  **her** name to keep him. You are not a man I would allow to dictate my fate, under  **any** circumstances._  

     "Do me the courtesy," I said, loathing stamped in my voice, "of speaking to me as an equal. Do not lie to me to encourage your own agenda, Eamon. What you want will  _never_ be."

     "So you will let your house, your family name, end? You will let House Cousland perish?" he asked, attempting once more to slay me with guilt. "You will let your legacy be ended too soon?"

     A scoffing noise tore out of my throat. "Cousland's brand of nobility is anachronistic at best. I have endured enough gazes askance to prove that. The world is changing, becoming harder, colder, disregarding everything that my father and mother stood for, that  _I,_ Eamon, stand for. Perhaps it is best that the name ends with me."

     "Ferelden  _needs_ you, Salem!" Eamon thundered, losing his composure. "As its warden  _and_ as its queen!"

     "Damn you and your machinations to the abyss!" I roared. "You would play with our lives as though we were pawns on a chessboard. After the hell you made his life, Alistair  _deserves_ more respect from you! He is  _no longer_ a boy, but a man with thoughts, ideals, and principles so strong they would pound yours into the dust!  _ **I**_ deserve to decide my own  _ **fucking**_ path! Is it not enough that I have  _broken my body_ with this war!? Must I also  _shred my soul!?"_

     My words turned hoarse as my throat went dry. I began coughing, the movement of my body aggravating every wound, sending pain shooting across my back, through my ribs and legs. I struggled to breath, but the paroxysm would not stop and I collapsed to my knees, fighting for air, doubling over as I felt the scabs on my back crack apart with the shuddering motions of my body. 

     "Salem!" Eamon exclaimed, rounding his desk and kneeling beside me. "Salem, are you all right?"

     "No." I growled as the coughing ceased at last. 

     Eamon reached out for me and I flung his hand away. He needed to see this, needed to see all that I had given for his beloved countries. Nobles did not bleed for their country. Their men died. Nobles did not fight with swords, but with words. In that moment, I saw what sway Loghain held over Ferelden. He was different. He had shed blood, where others had not. Maric was the same. My father was the same. Alistair and I...were the same.

     It was that difference, that identity, that gave Loghain his supposed power, and me my own cause. We did not hide behind our blood. Eamon needed to see this. Eamon needed to understand that sacrifice, while a noble ideal, could not rule over everything. It could only go so far.

     I pulled myself up, regaining my feet with difficulty. Everything hurt, and I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and fall into oblivion.

     "You have," I looked at Eamon, speaking while I fought for breath, "no right to dictate my fate to me. _You_ owe me your  _ **life.** " _

     "Your land needs you, Salem!" Eamon stressed.

     "It has me." I said, my tones dark. "It has always had me. I am Ferelden's warden. I am she who would save it. I have shed blood on every blade of grass in this country. I have given everything I have, and you would ask me not only to break my own heart, but the heart of the one I love. I can give nothing more, Eamon."

     I staggered to the door. "At the very least, consider the idea." Eamon pleaded as I opened the door.

     I stepped across the threshold, in pain, body shaking. _I have given too much. I have given too much. I have not bled out, been blinded, and **died** to see my future torn out of my hands. Forgive me, Ferelden. Forgive the last daughter of House Cousland. I do not love you enough...to give you all that I am._ 

     "Eamon." I met his gaze. "No." 


	34. The Fears We Face

**Leliana**

    We moved through the despicable hallways, seeing more victims, more suffering. I had not seen a scrap of food or a drop of water in this place, and I could but imagine the horrors that they were subjected to. Many of the women who had been brought here as virgins would not leave in the same manner. 

     I sped up, wanting to be away from the elves that were caged here. I did not want to endanger their lives when the guards came. I had come to save them, not let them be killed. A door stood at the end of the hallway, and Alistair kicked it in. The hall opened into a much more well-lit storeroom with wooden flooring instead of dirt. 

     There were five guards in the room and as we entered they rose and drew their weapons.  _Five against four,_ I assessed my situation.  _Easy odds, considering my company._

     Burrow charged the man closest to us, bearing him to the ground. The other four guards began to corral us in hopes of pinning us against the wall, to prevent our escape. Morrigan tapped her staff on the ground, emitting a wave of magic that bowled them over. A sword flew from one of the guard's hands. 

     In accordance with my training, I took advantage of the situation, running for the man who scrabbled across the ground after his weapon. An acrid scent filled the air as another soldier met with a burst of Morrigan's lightning. 

     I stepped on the soldier's hand as he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Bone crunched beneath my feet and I winced as the man screamed. One, I delighted in the causation of pain. I did not do so any longer. The thrill of blood rushing over my hands had vanished. I no longer rejoiced when putting a blade through another's skin. 

      _My hands are skilled...Marjolaine told me that the very moment we met. I had never raised a weapon in combat. I had never taken a life. My heart has still not reconciled to these talents. How strange it is, to take pride in my skill, but not joy. Salem, when this Blight is ended, I no longer wish to wield a weapon. Even though it seems your destiny mandates that you never lay down your sword, I pray you understand._

I knelt down and ended the man's suffering, withdrawing my hand before it became coated in his blood. 

      _This is why I prefer the boy,_ I thought as I watched the light leave his eyes.  _The boy is...gentler...easier...less painfully intimate._ _  
_

I rose to my feet, shaking the thoughts from my mind. It would not do to dwell on my weaknesses, not now, when faced by men who did not care if they took life, who gloried in the scent of blood...men whose sole purpose was to trade in flesh and bone. They did not deserve the air they took into their lungs. They did not deserve their freedoms.

     "Is everyone all right?" Alistair asked, examining the quick work we had made of our enemies. 

     "Fine." the witch answered, dabbing at the blood spatter across her chest. "Though 'twould seem these are but the forerunners."

     "Well, if all in this enterprise as are as skilled as these," I gestured to the quickly dispatched bodies, "then I believe we have nothing to fear."

     "No." Alistair looked grim. "Loghain would not allow his operation to be managed by incompetents. Organizations...operations such as this require...lackeys to accomplish their work. I would know." his tone turned bitter. "It was much the same among the templars. New recruits were sent first against the blood mages, in order to protect the senior warriors, who had a chance of surviving. The loss of a seasoned man was a devastating blow, while the loss of three fresh trainees was...acceptable."

     "'Tis the nature of the beast." Morrigan shrugged her shoulders, offering no condolences. 

     "And the beast must be killed." I cleaned my dagger of the blood on it, staining my clothes, wondering if I would ever again have the opportunity to wear something that had not been stained, not been torn by some weapon of war. 

      _I doubt I shall ever know that luxury. I miss Orlesian silk, fine, Antivan leather, music, and dancing. Maker, I miss dancing. I wonder if those days are forever ended; if the only dance I shall ever again perform is the dance of death._

     "Leliana," a warm hand on my shoulder, "are you certain you're all right. You went a little distant there."

     I reached up and took Alistair's hand, needing to touch something good, something solid. 

     "I am simply fading into introspection at an inappropriate time." I laughed, ridiculing myself. "Forgive me."

     He chuckled. "Well, then, you are in good company. But I would prefer to end this unless you wish Morrigan to turn us into toads, or bats, or some other...unsavory creature."

     The man looked ashamed as I removed his hand and started forward, walking towards large, ominous, double doors. The sound of the sea could be heard behind them. I felt that whomever was spearheading Loghain's slave trade would be found in the room beyond. 

     "Leliana, I'm...I"m sorry." he said, catching up to me. "I...I honestly do not think that we would have made it past the alienage gate without you here. When Eamon told me that we were to go...without Salem...I had my misgivings and...I still do. I have not performed to her standards, as she would wish, but..."

     "Think nothing of it, Alistair." I told him, attempting to focus my thoughts on our mission. 

      _We must act before the elves suffer the backlash from what we have done. Now is not the time for apologies or a crisis of identity. It is a time for decisiveness and fighting._

     "But..." he pressed the matter and I turned to him. 

      _This needs to be ended, now. I know Alistair. He is a **good** man with a  **strong** heart and all that he needs is confidence and to  **believe** in himself as we believe in him._  

     "Salem meant for you to come into your own and find your feet, Alistair." my voice held intensity, but I kept my volume low. "She has done nothing but push you towards finding your own strength, a strength that she has seen and depended on, a strength that  _I_ have witnessed. The man who spoke to me in the Temple of Andraste, who gave me the difficult truth with no apologies or fear,  _that_ is the man who would be king.  _That_ is a man who can speak with eloquence, who can persuade with passion, who struggles and fights for what he believes is  _right_. You are more capable than you perceive yourself to be, Alistair. Salem cannot carry you forever, nor should you desire her to."

     The warden backed away, nodding his head in affirmation, resignation, and remorse. 

     "I understand." he whispered. "I know...I am...I am afraid, Leliana."

     "Fear is natural." Morrigan sauntered up, her tone not laced with acid or mockery. "'Tis something we all experience. Cowardice, however, is when we allow fear to divert us from the truth of who we are."

     Alistair bristled, turning to the witch. "As if you have ever felt the tiniest bit of fear." he challenged, then turned to me. "And you? I know you feel fear but...but you hide it so well. You rushed into that dungeon and dragged Salem out of it, even though you were terrified. I'm...I'm not like that."

     Morrigan arched her eyebrows. "Though 'tis not in my nature to admit, in interest of aiding Salem, I will tell you that I have, in fact, known fear. However, I have no interest in such a limiting emotion. So it is disregarded, in favor of whatever best holds my focus."

     Alistair scoffed. "You make it sound so simple."

     "And it is, for one such as I." Morrigan smiled. "But how many like me have you ever met?"

     "Very, very...none." the warden admitted. 

     "'Tis as I thought." Morrigan pointed toward the door. "Now, meditate on our words when time is allotted. Until then, keep your focus here."

      _Keeping focus seems to be growing more and more difficult. It seems that Salem unifies our focus, as well. It seems that Wynne was right, those many months ago when she took me aside, asking me of my intentions towards Salem. She said that if Salem lost interest and focus in our mission, if something distracted her to the point of abandonment, that the Blight would never know an end. Because, if Salem were to divide herself, her support would fail. It would fail because she not only brought us all together, but keeps us so._ _  
_

"Are you ready?" Alistair looked from Morrigan to me. The both of us nodded.

     The warden opened the door and we entered the room beyond, finding ourselves on a balcony overlooking a shipping yard. Crates with cage bars lined the walls, filled with elves awaiting transport to new countries and new owners. A group of armed men waited blow. Their leader, a man in mage robes, glanced up at us, smiling with too-bright teeth. 

     "Welcome." he said. "We have been awaiting your arrival."


	35. The Choices that Save Us

**Salem**

    I left Eamon's office and moved quickly through the estate...more quickly than I should have. I all but raced up the stairs, and paid for it when I reached the second floor. Fire raced up and down my back, shooting through my legs and sending me to my knees. I rested on them, arms crossed across my ribs as they ached with pounding fury that made my breath go shallow and become harsher and harsher as I struggled to breath past the pain. I shivered, remembering what had brought me to this point. 

      _The feel of chains around my wrists, metal biting into my skin, Cauthrien spewing Loghain's rhetoric against me, trying to cut truth out of my body and read it in the blood that dripped on the floor. Fists, bruises, my body being destroyed on the whims of another. I wonder if I will ever know slumber free of nightmares._

Sorrow whispered through my thoughts, hurting my heart, burning it as it fought to beat. 

      _How much of a burden will this be on Leliana. She left me in the Frostbacks. She left because she could not endure watching as I consistently ravaged my body, throwing myself on swords for all the world. What will she do now...when she sees the scars that remain, and knows that there will be more stamped on me by the end of this._

     In my weakened state, I could not fight the images and thoughts that assailed me. I re-lived our argument in the Frostbacks, Leliana's accusations that were also truths, her soft admittance that she could no longer bear it. That our love was not strong enough to survive the burdens I carried. 

     Tears began flowing down my face, dripping on the floor, and my body shook and muscles spasmed with grief. Soft footsteps met my ears, but I could not stop crying, imagining a future in which I lost everything. 

     "Salem?" Wynne's voice reached my ears. 

     She rested her hand against my forehead, frowning when she saw my tears. I looked at her, helpless to stop weeping, feeling hope slip away sliver by precious sliver. Wynne offered me her hand and I took it, gasping as she helped me to my feet. Instead of wrapping her arm around my back, she tucked my elbow into her arm, supporting me. 

     "We need to get you into bed,  _now_." she said as she began guiding me to her room. 

     "No." I protested, even though my voice was ragged. "No, please, Wynne, I...I cannot sleep. I do not want to dream I do not want to...I need...need to see...life. Need to...need to live."

     I could see compassion bloom in Wynne's eyes. Acceding to my wishes, she led me into my room, past the bed and out, onto the balcony that overlooked the city streets. I gripped the stone railing, looking down. Wynne left my side, then reappeared moments later, carrying a chair. She brought it up behind me, rested her hand on my shoulder, and guided me into a sitting position. She rested against the balcony and scrutinzed me, watching as I wiped the remnants of tears from my face. 

     "Deep thoughts?" her musical, kind voice greeted my ears. 

     I stared into nothingness, the depths of my thoughts, fears, worries...my absolute dread of what the future might hold. 

     "Troubled thoughts." I answered, allowing myself to be honest with the senior enchanter. 

     Wynne knew the stakes. She knew me and Leliana well; loved us as she loved her students or, I imagined, as she would love her daughters. Only a mother could be as enduring and patient as she had been with me. Only a mother could repair the damage done to my body with a stern hand and a kind word. 

      _The world will soon come to its end for me, be it through death or victory. I have no need to shield myself any longer. Not from those who have proven that they care. Not from those whom I have grown to love._

     "Tell me how you are feeling." Wynne said, though I knew she spoke of the condition of my body, mind, soul, heart, and spirit. 

     "Fractured." I whispered. "Sundered. Split apart in so many ways and in so many places I am surprised to find all parts of me still...attached."

     I could not bear to see the pity that would surely rest in Wynne's eyes. I turned my gaze to the streets of Denerim and frowned. I had always loathed those streets, the cloistered city air, the feeling of being swallowed alive by stone. I found my comfort in the wild places, surrounded by nature, away from the clamor of the "civilized" world. 

     A grim smile quirked my lips.

      _Yet another difference between Leliana and me. This is where she finds herself most at home. How many differences between us will be irreconcilable once this Blight is ended? Or will reconciliation even be a worry? I have come close to death so many times...and in truth once crossed that line. But to do so with finality, with no hope of coming back...am I afraid? I do not know._

     "Tell me what is troubling you." Wynne sat beside me, placing her weathered hand on the top of my foot and looking down into the Denerim marketplace. 

     "Myriad matters." I attempted to sort out the chaos of my mind. "Foremost is the conversation I just had with the good arl."

     "Oh?"

     "He wishes to go before the Landsmeet and propose an alliance through marriage in order to gain support." I muttered, dark, still avoiding Wynne's eyes. 

     "Alistair and Anora?" Wynne questioned. 

      _No._ I bit the inside of my cheek.  _That grievous idea belonged to me._

     "Not Alistair and Anora." I answered, sighing. "But Alistair and...me."

     I at last looked down at the mage. Wynne pressed her lips together, considering the notion. I cringed inwardly as I waited for her words; waited for her to support Arl Eamon's claims in her rational frame of mind, to spell out for me the litany of reasons that I should forego my own desires and bend to the will of those older and wiser. For the good of Ferelden. For the good of Thedas. 

     The healer shook her head. "The very notion is preposterous."

     The breath I did not know I had been holding rushed out in a sigh of relief. "I said as much." I replied, meeting Wynne's canny blue eyes. 

     "I hope you stated it emphatically." Wynne replied. "Eamon means well, of this I am certain, and the alliance he proposes would affect the situation in your favor, but it is will unwise. The arl does not know you as we do."

     "And what is it that you know?" I asked, intrigued to know when her mind had changed. 

     Wynne smiled. "Do you remember what I said to you when your fledgling feelings for Leliana came to light?"

     "Vividly." I laughed at the memory of her stern, yet caring condemnation. 

     She had taken me aside, and with flames inside her eyes, told me that I could not risk losing focus on the mission. That the Blight must take precedence over the desires of my heart...and my body. She had also informed me that Leliana's heart had been broken too many times for me to consider a cheap dalliance to ease the rigors of the fighting and the road. I had understood where her words came from. I had told her my intentions. We had left each other's presence with the matter unresolved, and had not spoken of it since. 

     The senior enchanter nodded. "I am not so old and set in my ways that I perceive myself to be accurate in all matters. I was wrong, Salem. I have witnessed and bear witness still to the fact that Leliana has not made you lose focus. If anything, you press forward in your mission with greater fervor because of the love you share. I know for a fact that had she not returned after leaving you in the Frostback mountains, we would have found you dead in Howe's dungeons. No person without  _something_ great to live for would have survived what you endured, Salem."

     I nodded, meditating on the gravity of her words. 

      _I feel for Leliana as my mother felt towards my father. She did not escape with me, even though she was given the opportunity. Without him, she knew she would be lost, adrift, dead of soul if not of body. When Leliana left me, I felt my soul begin to die._

     "So very true." I worried my lower lip with my teeth, gazing to the skyline over the alienage. 

      _Please be all right, dear heart. I hate that I cannot be there with you, guarding you as I should be, as I promised. Please, forgive me and come back to me._

     Wynne rested a careful hand on my thigh. "You needn't worry, Salem." she comforted. "I am certain that Leliana will return, hale and hearty, as will the others. The Maker, it would seem, guides her fate."

     "Even if her vision was untrue," I said, "she has been a godsend to me. You are right, Wynne. I would be dead a thousand times over had she not come with me. I cannot turn my back on such a love for... _political strategy._ " I spat the last two words, unable to conquer my bitterness towards Eamon for even  _suggesting_ that I leave my love behind. 

     "Yet your brow still furrows."

     I looked at the healer, setting my lips in a firm line. "If it seems we are to fail in the Landsmeet, if the bannorn retracts its support, or Anora betrays her word, I fear that Eamon will broach the idea without consultin gme. He is dogged in his determination to preserve Ferelden, and while his loyalty is reassuring, the man himself is not. I have already played Alistair as a pawn in this game...I realize now his taking umbrage at being so used."

     Wynne nodded her understanding of my fears. "I see." she replied. "And will you speak of this potentiality to Leliana when she returns?"

     "Of course." I said, even though I dreaded broaching the subject. "To do anything else would be cruel."

     Wynne chuckled. "Then you are a far braver woman than I." she met my eyes. Her brows lowered and her lips turned down at the corners. "You look so tired, my dear."

     She got to her feet and I heard her joints pop. She stretched, brief, and stood in front of me, tucking a finger under my chin and lifting my eyes to hers. Her frown deepened and she placed the back of her hand to my forehead once more. After a moment, her hand moved to my cheek, then her fingers to the pulse at my neck. 

     "Salem, I must insist that you rest. What with the recent emotional barrage and moving about, you are entirely too pale, your skin is cold and clammy, and your pulse is racing. It is too soon to perform more healing spells, and you cannot risk a relapse. I know that Leliana would prefer to see you in a better state than she left you."

     "Certainly." I answered, Wynne's words making me aware of how truly  _awful_ I felt. 

     The senior enchanter extended her hand once again. I grasped it and she helped me to my feet. It took a moment to gain my balance and a wave of dizziness threatened to make me lose my balance. Wynne shored me up and I leaned against her as she guided me back to the room and the bed. 

     "I will need to remove your shirt, Salem." Wynne said. "I need to check the wounds on your back and change your bandages."

     Wynne moved to my front and unlaced my shirt, lifting my arms as gently as possible and extricating them from the sleeves. I shivered, even though the room was warm, and Wynne frowned. She set my shirt aside and moved around to my back. 

     "You poor dear." Wynne murmured. "You must be hurting more than you know. There is quite a bit of blood on your bandages. Your movement must have reopened some of the deeper lacerations. Lie down."

     Obedient, I moved onto the bed and lay on my stomach, listening to Wynne rifling through her pack, the sounds of pouring water, then footsteps. 

     "Salem." she brought my attention to her and pressed a cup into my hand. "Drink this. It is burdock root, mullein leaves, and goldenseal. It will help your body restore the blood you have lost."

     I lifted my head and drained the tonic, lowering my head to the pillow and wincing as Wynne's deft hands began to remove the bandages. I knew that she tried to cause as little discomfort as possible, but some of the blood had dried, and I bit my lip as the cloth pulled away from the skin. 

     "Close your eyes and try to rest, Salem." Wynne counseled. "You need to regain your strength."

     "But...Leliana..."

     "If you are sleeping when they arrive, be assured that I will wake you immediately."

     "Thank you, Wynne." 

     I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of Wynne's hands on my back as she cleaned the blood away from my skin and tended to the horrific monstrosity of the pulped flesh of my back. I did not think that I would sleep, but the dull pain became a lullaby and I fell forward into slumber. 


	36. The Battles with Meaning

**Leliana**

    "You were expecting us?" I asked, buying the three of us time to assess the room. 

     The stairway leading to the balcony we stood on was wide, a disadvantage for us. It would be impossible to create a bottleneck at the top of the balcony, and we were outnumbered at least three to one, not including the mage. I scrutinized him and something seemed...off. Morrigan must have sensed it as well, for she was etching symbols into the floor with her staff. 

     "But of course." the mage spoke. "The moment you tripped the wards, we knew you would find your way here. Although it appears that my men stationed inside did not fare as well as I would have hoped."

     "They are dead." Morrigan stated. 

     "Oh." the man stroked his voluminous moustaches. "I see. Regardless, we do have matters to discuss."

     "I do not think we do." Alistair walked to the edge of the balcony, squaring her shoulders. "You're running a slave trade. The last I recall, Ferelden was a free nation."

     I smiled at the warden as I removed my bow and set the string, at last in a place where a ranged weapon would be of use. 

      _I knew that you could do this, Alistair. Speak for your country. Own your royal blood and use it for the good of your people._

     The mage mocked us with laughter. "We both know that in times of unrest, laws are easily broken...by royal order, no less. Now, I know that you entered the warehouse in the alienage. I also suspect that you recovered some papers not meant for your eyes. However, since I believe you to be Cousland sympathizers, I regret to inform you that said papers will be of no use in your cause."

     "But...but they bear the seal of House Mac Tir." Alistair argued and my thoughts raced. 

      _What do they have that we do not? Surely, when presented before the bannorn, those documents will lay bare Loghain's treason. He has violated the very principalities on which the freed Ferelden was built._

     "A seal which could easily have been stolen. They are written in foreign language and unsigned. The seal means little to nothing. It is evidence of cirumcstance, at best." the mage smiled, his eyes shining with sadistic glee. "Now, I am a mercenary, not bound by politics. All I want is for the gold from this sale to line my pockets. I have with  _me_ additional documents that  _do_ bear Loghain's signature."

     "What are you proposing?" Alistair asked, the muscles in his jaw jumping with tension. 

     "A trade." the mage reached into his robes and withdrew a rolled parchment. "You will receive hard evidence to back your chosen noble at the Landsmeet, and I will be free to send out this next shipment of slaves and reap the benefits. You are reasonable, I am certain. Take my offer, and walk away in peace, unharmed."

     Alistair pursed his lips, considering the thought. I wanted to step forward, to speak, but to do that would endanger the future king's already precarious position. 

      _I know what Salem would do; the exact words she would say, the righteous anger that would flare out from her soulful eyes. Maker, give Alistair the strength to do what must be done, even though it will endanger our lives. We made a promise, not for ourselves, but to those who have no power to take up their own defense._

     "I have another proposition." Alistair spoke at last, clenching the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white. "Set the elves free, give us the documents, and consider your lives worth the trade."

      _Yes!_

     My heart rejoiced, even though it began to beat faster with apprehension. The mage would not take the offer, but at least Alistair had attempted diplomacy, and done the proper thing. Morrigan readied her staff and I withdrew an arrow from my quiver, preparing for the attack. 

     The mage's laugh rang throughout the room, yet again. "You are quite brazen, whoever you are. I am not surprised that Loghain fears Cousland's supporters at the Landsmeet. However, my answer is no. You have one last chance to accept the original terms, or this will end in blood."

     I nocked my arrow against the string, waiting for Alistair's word. This battle would not be easy, not if we had to fight our way down into the main room. Burrow yipped at my side, treating me as he would his master, waiting for the command to attack. 

     "Soon, boy." I promised, taking a deep inhale to steady my nerves. "Very soon."

     Alistair reached for his shield, bringing it to bear in front of him. His eyes were resigned, but also resolute. 

     "Blood it is, then." he stated, his body unmoving, his voice without hesitation. 

     I did not wait for our enemy to make the first move. Intentions had been stated and offers declined. There was no lack of honor in striking first. I raised my bow and fired an arrow directly at the mage's chest. Light flared from his staff and a shield rose around him. Alistair ran to the stairs as Morrigan coated them with ice, making the ascent both troublesome and perilous. 

     I looked down at the enemy mage, noticing my arrow embedded in his shield. 

      _Unless that shield falls, my bow, and in fact all ranged attacks, will be useless against him._

     I pulled another arrow and set it against the string, listening to the clash of metal as Alistair flung away an enemy's blade with his shield and ran the man through. Morrigan fired a bolt of lightning at the mage's shield. It absorbed the blast, spreading out and growing ever brighter, as though his spell was made stronger by the energy of Morrigan's.

     "Leliana, down!" Morrigan shouted as she wreathed herself in magic. 

     Before I could move, Burrow barreled into me, knocking me to the floor. A line of fire opened up across my hip and I placed my hand over it, probing it with my fingertips and feeling the warmth of blood. 

      _Shallow wound._ I assessed it, pushing the pain from my mind, rolling over and glancing at the wall behind me, where my own arrow rested.  _The bastard mage flung it back at me!_ I realized. 

     "Songstress!" Morrigan called. "Help Alistair! Leave the mage to me!"

     I scrabbled to my feet, pulling another arrow from my quiver and nocking it. I pulled back on the string and fired into the group of men charging up the stairs. One fell, her body knocking back into another assailant, taking him to the floor. Burrow took advantage, pouncing on the fallen soldier and breaking his neck with a powerful bite. Alistair downed another attacker, bashing the corner of his shield against the man's unarmored head.

     I glanced quickly at the mage, nothing that his shield had dissipated and that he held his staff extended, his magic battling Morrigan's.

      _He is our most dangerous opponent and should be finished as quickly as possible._

     I nocked another arrow and pulled back, firing a hastily aimed shot in his direction, hoping it would break his concentration. The arrow buried itself in the mage's calf, not a fatal wound, but definitely a distracting one.

     "You bitch!" he shouted, limping backwards, touching his hand to his wound and smearing his fingertips with blood. "You will suffer!"

     "Blood magic!" Alistair cried, hastening his efforts to clear the soldiers from the stairs.

      _We are out of our depth!_ My thoughts shrieked. 

     A wave of magic pulsed through the room like a shockwave. My head cracked against the wall as I was thrown against it like a leaf in a strong wind. I lay on the floor, stunned, staring at the mage as horrible shades of red and black swirled around him.  

     A wolf's jaws latched around my wrist, tugging at me. 

      _It's...Morrigan..._ I got to my feet and staggered down the stairs, wondering how hard that blow to the head had been. I felt dizzy and disoriented and I could afford neither. 

      _The fool,_ I stared around me at the mess of dead bodies on the staircase and the floor.  _He used that attack against us and his own men. More than half of our enemies, vanquished by their own leader. Mercenary indeed._

     The mage turned to face me as Burrow and the witch-wolf circled him. I pulled an arrow and set it against my bowstring, feeling bruised muscles in my shoulder protest as I drew back, taking careful aim, keeping the blood mage's eyes on me so that he did not see Alistair approaching from behind. 

     "Do not fire that arrow." he warned. "Or I will end your miserable life."

     I remained silent as I watched Alistair raise his blade. He nodded and I loosed the arrow, satisfied when it buried itself in the man's heart as Alistair's sword pierced his gut. As the body fell, Morrigan latched her wolf's fangs against his throat and tore the man's head from his shoulders. I shuddered, even though I knew it was necessary to keep the man from returning as an abomination. 

     The cloying magic in the air dissipated and calm settled over the room. Morrigan transformed herself, easing out of her wolf form with a groan that sounded uncomfortably sensual. Alistair's eyes were riveted to the witch's naked body as she sashayed back to where she she had shifted and left her clothes. 

     She picked them up from the floor and began to dress herself, doing naught but raising an eyebrow at Alistair as he did not avert his gaze. 

     "'Twas an invigorating conflict, if short lived." she smirked. 

     Unable to stop myself, I burst out in laughter. 

      _This...entire...situation...is ridiculous._

     My shallow cut on my hip protested and I calmed myself, giggling again at Morrigan's incredulous expression. 

     Alistair reached inside the mage's blood-soaked robes, unrolling the parchment that the man kept there. He examined it, smiled, and re-rolled it, offering it to me to place it with the others. 

     "The mage spoke true." Alistair announced as I tucked our all-important evidence away. "That document is signed by Loghain and written in the common tongue. We have what we came for."

     A sigh of relief left all of us.  _Thank the Maker._

     "Songstress, are you all right?" Morrigan asked, eyeing the bloodied hand that applied pressure to the furrow in my skin carved by the arrow. 

     "A flesh wound, nothing more." I assured her as I removed the string from my bow and set it in place above the quiver on my back. "Though I thank you for your concern."

     "'Tis not concern for myself that moves me." Morrigan drawled as she bound her hair back into its usual knot. "Salem's wrath is not something I wish to return to."

     I shook my head and smiled, retrieving my lockpicks and walking to the cages that held the elves. I sprung the locks and opened the door, standing back as the prisoners began to make their way out of the cramped space. 

     They exited the cage, crossing their arms in front of their chests, gazing at us warily. 

      _They do not know to trust us._ I hung my head in shame.  _All humans are the same to them...enemies. Those who use, abuse, and bring ruination upon them. Maker...what have we done? How can we claim to follow you, and let these injustices persist._

     An elf with stooped shoulders and silver hair emerged, shaking his head. He turned his eyes to me. "Are you...letting us go?" he asked. 

     "We are." I replied. "Please, I do not know if these were all the men involved in this hideous crime. Make haste."

     "I am the headman of the alienage." he bowed to me, a show of respect. "Creators bless you for your kindness. The elves will remember your generosity and repay you in what manner we can."

      _It was not my kindness that saved you from slavery,_ my thoughts went to Salem.  _It was hers. Her influence, her caring...her belief. And it should have been her sword that freed you._

     "Go, and be safe." I bade him. 

     The elves fled the warehouse, going up the stairs and exiting through the storehouse, bent on returning to their family and friends, to returning what was stolen. I looked to the others as Burrow came to stand at my injured side, offering me his support. I leaned on him, grateful. 

     "Leliana, are you all right?" Alistair asked, moving closer to me. "You look quite pale."

     "A slight headache." I murmured. "Nothing more."

     I knew that I should return to Eamon's estate with the evidence we had risked our lives to gather. I knew that I should return to the woman I loved and ease her anxiety. But I could not remove the image of the haunted elven woman who had begged me for her child's life. It hovered in my mind's eye, and I knew that I could not turn my back on this place, not just yet. 

     "We should leave this place." Alistair said. "Salem will be waiting."

     My heart ached at his words, for my desires were aligned with his, but I could not give into them. I did not wish to argue, so I simply turned on my heel and ran back up the stairs, knowing that they would follow me. I moved through the hallways and into the room where I had left the elf who named herself Kallian. 

     The elves we had freed in the shipping dock moved among their kin. I heard too many of them crying, and not in relief or joy, but in pain from the damage done to their bodies. I found Kallian much as I had left her, curled around the body of her child, protecting the baby. I knelt in front of her once again. 

     "Kallian," I said her name, gentle, "it is Leliana. Those who would harm you are dead. I am here to take you back to your family."

     She looked up, her eyes so tired, haunted, and bloodshot. "I still...how can I believe you?"

     "Look around you." I whispered, trying to impart comfort and strength. "Those that were taken from you are among you again. Please trust me. Let me help you, and your child."

     Kallian's lower lip trembled. "I...I cannot walk." she hung her head and shielded her face with her hair. "It...it hurts too much."

      _Oh my dear Maker._ Horror scoured through me.  _How much torment have you endured? Do not worry, Kallian. I will take you back to your family._ _  
_

"I can help you." I told her. "Please let me."

     "I can carry her back to her family." Alistair's voice rang behind me. 

     I turned to see an expression on his face that had never before been there. It was strength, pure and passionate. I could see a deep, consuming rage in his eyes. Rage against the men who had committed such grievous sins against another living being. His jaw was set, his gaze aflame, and he exuded such an iron compassion that I was moved in my very soul. 

     "Let me take your child." I offered, wincing as my slight headache became more pronounced. "Alistair will carry you. We will take you to your cousin, if you wish."

     Kallian did not speak, but when she looked up, tears were streaming down the fine angles of her features. With trembling arms, she extended her child to me. I took the babe, cradling the precious cargo to my chest, gasping as her eyes opened, bright green, like her mother's. I rose to my feet and moved away, staying within Kallian's sight so that she did not fear for her child. 

     Alistair scooped up the thin elven woman and held her in his strong arms. She whimpered at the slight movement and she covered her chest with her arms, as though she was trying to keep her ribs protected. 

     "Lead the way, Leliana." Alistair ordered. "She's burning up."

     Immediately I began moving, exiting the hallway and walking to the exit, listening for Alistair's slower steps behind me. When we walked into the light of day, I winced, biting back a groan as the sun seemed to stab straight through my eyes and into the back of my skull. But I kept moving, around the false house of healing. Shianni still stood in the courtyard, her bearing still defiant, her face full of iron resolve and concern. 

     "Shianni." I called her name and she turned her attention to us, going pale when she saw the baby in my arms and the burden Alistair carried. 

     "Kallian!" she cried her cousin's name, rushing to the young woman. 

     Shianni's hands stroked through her cousin's hair, exposing more of her face. In the light, I could see the fading yellowish-green of old bruises, and I wondered how many more injuries lay beneath her ragged clothing. 

     "Shi...anni." Kallian's voice was ragged, tired, and slurring with exhaustion. "Thank...the gods."

     "Please, I hate to intrude," Shianni looked to Alistair, the look in her eyes one of devastating heartbreak, "but could you bring her to my home? It's not far."

     "Of course." Alistair kept his voice low and gentle, as though he could somehow intuit that Kallian was still terrified of humans...especially their men. And for good reason. 

     I knew the child in my arms had not been conceived in love, and that thought broke my heart. 

     Shianni led us to her home and opened the door. Alistair entered the house and Shianni followed him, rushing to a chest in the corner, opening it, and removing several stacks of blankets. She built a pallet in front of the fire and Alistair set Kallian down on it. Shianni knelt beside her cousin, whispering a stream of comforting nonsense. I felt her pain. I knew where she stood. 

      _Maker, my head hurts._

     "Evary?" Kallian moaned a name, and my instinct told me that she asked for her child. "E...Evary."

     I knelt down and Shianni took the babe from my arms, holding her up so that Kallian could see her sleeping daughter. 

     "Evary is well, Kallian." Shianni spoke in a soothing tones. "And you will be well again too. Rest now, all right? Just get some rest."

     Kallian's eyelids fluttered closed and a look of despondence, not allowed while her cousin was awake, took over Shianni's face. 

     "All of our medicines were confiscated by the supposed shemlen  _healers_." she told us. "She looks like she hasn't eaten in days. I doubt they were even given water."

     "Here." I reached into my belt pouch and gathered all the gold I carried. "It isn't much, but it should help you procure what you need for her and the child."

     Shianni stared at me as her eyes went wide. "I...I never thought I would say this to a shem. But...I thank you."

     "You are owed this and more." Alistair spoke. "Rest assured, Shianni, I will see this sort of thing ended, and soon."

     Shianni made a soft scoffing noise. "And who are you to promise that?" she asked as she bathed Kallian's brow with cool water. "No noble would dare set foot in the alienage."

      _You are right, Shianni._ I thought, looking up at Alistair, smiling, ignoring the throb between my temples. _No noble would set foot here...but Alistair is not a noble. He is a king._   _  
_


	37. The Victories that Break Us

**Salem**

    I flinched at the feeling of something foreign. A wet rasp attacked my fingertips, nudging my hand back and forth. I pulled my eyes open and looked down at Burrow. Confusion rattled my brain and I stared at the mabari, trying to organize my thoughts. 

      _Burrow?_ I scratched his head and he yipped in appreciation as I tried to remind myself why his presence was important.  _Thoughts...sleep fogged. Burrow...I sent him with...with Leliana. They must have returned!_

     Slow, I rolled over onto my back and sat up, re-acquainting myself with the pain that radiated through me. I closed my eyes and lowered my head, breathing deep. Burrow whined and jumped up, balancing his forelegs on the mattress. He nudged my leg with his wet nose and lifted his one ear. 

     "I'm all right boy." I assured him. 

     He chuffed and shook his head, clearly not believing a word I said. I leaned over and playfully shoved his shoulder, knocking him off of the bed. His ear perked up again and he began wagging his stub of a tail as the door of my room opened further. 

     Alistair entered, Leliana's arm slung across his shoulders, and his arm around her waist. My bard leaned heavily on her left leg and her face, too pale for my liking, was sheened with sweat. A crimson stain marred her right side. My stomach turned at the sight of it and I flung my legs over the edge of the bed, getting to my feet. Burrow came closer to me and I tapped my hand against his side. 

     "Get Wynne." I ordered. 

     Burrow, accustomed to that particular command, dashed out of the room with a whuffing bark. My eyes felt like they were on fire and i turned my gaze to Alistair. 

     "What. Happened?" I fought to keep my voice even, but could not stop the tremors in my words. 

     Alistair's surprise at seeing me well enough to stand faded into fear. If I could stand, I could do more than threaten him. 

     "We...we ran into a bit of trouble." he said. "More of an ambush...more of a trap."

     I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to quell the fire scorching through my veins. 

      _I had to send them. It was necessary...and if Loghain was behind whatever took place in the alienage, they were bound to face resistance. Maker, how does this happen? Why, when I am healing at long last, is she injured? How does this equalize in the eyes of god, or is my suffering paramount in whatever demented plan you have for my life? Can we not share one day together without wounds?_

     "Explain." I glared at Alistair, daring him to make excuses, daring him to test my patience. 

      _Grant me a reason,_ I taunted him with my eyes,  _grant me **one** reason and I will flay you alive. _

     "Salem," Leliana spoke, and the wound of her voice alone extinguished the lava in my veins. "Alistair, let me go."

     "But..." he protested, glancing from my irate eyes to Leliana's pale features. 

     "Alistair, please." she entreated, and he gently released her, making certain she could stand on her own before he took a step away. 

     Leliana looked at me, lightly resting weight on her right leg. "Salem, come here."

     I obeyed, helpless to do anything else. I needed her. I needed to touch her, to believe that she would be all right, even though she looked weak and frail. Fear gripped my heart...and I stopped short. 

      _What if she is angry with me...dear Maker, I sent her from my side and she is injured. How did I even dream of possessing such audacity? Leli, I'm sorry. I did not mean to place you in harm's way, to take wounds that I should have been there to endure. Damn me, I have gone too far; I have failed all of them. I should have...should have waited, should have forced Wynne to heal me, no matter the cost. I had no right...no right at all. I hate the sight of blood on her skin. I **hate** it._  

     "Salem," Leliana looked into my eyes; caressed my face with her gentle hand, "I need you closer."

     I took a tentative step forward and my bard embraced me, resting her head on my shoulder. My body protested the weight, flinched at the pressure, but I ignored it as calm overtook me. I laced my arms behind her back and kissed her hair, savoring the faint scent of Andraste's Grace that always clung to her. 

     "I have needed this," she whispered, and all anger within me fled, "so much."

     Alistair cleared his throat and I glared daggers at him. The mission debriefing could wait. I held all that I needed in my arms. All that I needed for health, sanity, and comfort. 

     "I should...uh..." he glanced around, "...inform Eamon. Right." he paused by the doorway, looking over his shoulder. "It is...good to see you up and about, Salem."

     He closed the door, leaving me alone with Leliana. She withdrew from our embrace and raked her eyes across me, relief crossing her features as she saw color in my cheeks and some measure of strength in my stance. 

     "How are you feeling?" she asked, reaching out, trailing her fingers down my arm. "You look...you look stronger."

     "Wynne has informed me that I am on the mend." I replied, warmth flowing over me again as Leliana wrapped me in fierce, joyous embrace. 

     I gritted my teeth as her arms laced around my back, but any amount of pain was worth it to feel her holding me again. I savored her heat and kissed her brow, but I could not avoid the hiss of air through my teeth when she loosened her grip and stepped back. 

     "Maker's breath!" Leliana exclaimed, her hand flying to her open lips. "Salem, forgive me! I did not mean...I was simply so relieved...to see you again; to be able to touch you. I am...I am sorry, my love."

     I laughed as her eloquence fled beneath her worry and pulled her forward, into my arms. 

     "I am fine." I assured her, pressing my lips against hers, to silence and to promise. 

     She returned the kiss with fervor and passion, both of us willing to endure whatever pain might come. It was a small price to pay for the sheer bliss of touch, feeling, connection. Much still lay unknown between us, unsaid words, unvoiced emotions. I feared we would never have the time to resolve the issues that hovered around us. 

     "Tell me what happened." I said, aiding her to the bed. 

     Leliana hissed as she sat down and I knelt before her, lifting her shirt to inspect the damage done. I frowned as I saw the long, shallow furrow in Leliana's skin. It looked as though a thin, sharp razor had scored the skin, slicing through it instead of tearing it away. A sword had not made this wound. 

     "The plague was a ruse." Leliana informed me, wincing every now and again as I further examined her injury. "Loghain was rounding up the elves, using the plague as a pretense to disguise his slave trade."

     "What?" I looked up, feeling rage flow over me once more. "Loghain was..." I could not countenance the thought. I rose and began pacing the room. "After all his pontification, his decrying of the indentured servitude that was Ferelden's relationship with Orlais, he  _possessed the **gall**_ to sell citizens of our country as slaves!?"

     "Salem, calm down." Leliana urged, her voice wavering. "You are making me dizzy."

     I stopped pacing, but crushed my hands into fists, wanting to feel my swords in my grip, to lash out against something. I wanted a enemy of flesh and blood, who would hurt, who would bleed, who would  _pay_ for the suffering that I and those I loved had endured. 

     "Forgive me." I spoke between clenched teeth. 

     "To  _you,_ my love, they are citizens." Leliana spoke, the truth softened not at all by the beauty of her voice. "To many others...to most in power...the elves are a lesser race, undeserving of representation, not given a voice, and prohibited a means of defending themselves."

     I spat, cursing Loghain. "What right have we to consider ourselves a free country when we spit in the face of all that we fought for? This will change, Leliana. I swear on  _my father's blood_ that no race in Ferelden will  _ever_ be placed in chains."

     "Salem." Leliana pushed herself off the bed and limped over to me, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Keep calm, my love."

     She swayed on her feet and I reached out to steady her, unhappy with the chill of her skin and the slight tremors I felt running through the hand that touched me. Sweat still dotted her forehead and I frowned, noticing that the shadows beneath her eyes seemed to have deepened. 

     "Dear heart, are you certain you're all right?" I asked, once more disregarding my anger in favor of concern. 

      _She brings out all that is good in me. Will I ever be able to repay the multitudinous debts that I owe her? Will I ever be given the time to show her the depth of my devotion, to speak in actions to make up for the words I sorely lack._

     "I...I was." her voice became breathy and her eyelids fluttered. "A moment ago."

     Her face went another shade of white and I wrapped my arms around her as she fell forward in a faint. I clenched my jaw as pain jolted down my nerves, but I forced myself to kneel and bear her safely to the floor. 

      _Heavens, hells, and angels! What **happened** in the Maker-damned alienage? Where in  **hell** is Wynne?_ 

     "Leliana." I whispered, cradling her against my chest, not strong enough to lift her, too broken to be of help. "Leliana, wake up. Please, dear heart, open your eyes. Please."

     I pressed my lips to her forehead, thankful that her temperature seemed normal. I felt useless, helpless to do anything but wait for those who had the abillity to do what I could not. Heal. Care for. Protect. Perhaps...perhaps I had never been capable of doing such things. 

      _What made you believe otherwise, Salem?_ I asked myself.  _What made you believe, for one instant, that you were worthy of being loved? This, too, shall be torn from you, as all good things thus far have been. You will kill her, Salem. That is the only way this can end...is it not?_


	38. The Roles that Cannot Define Us

**Leliana**

    "Explain to me," I heard Salem's distant voice, fierce with constrained rage, " _exactly what happened_ in the alienage."

     "The plague was false, Salem." Alistair answered, his voice slurring...or perhaps it was simply my hearing that was to blame. 

     The surface I lay on did not feel quite right. The room felt as though it was tilting, as if somehow I had been transported to a ship and we were on the ocean. My throat felt tight and sticky and I kept my eyes closed in hopes that the sick churning deep in my stomach would ease. 

     "I know that." Salem's words cut like a knife. "Leliana managed to tell me that the plague was a ruse to disguise an illegal slave trade, a crime for which Loghain  _will_ answer, no matter the cost."

     "O...of course. There...there was a warehouse where they were keeping the elves." Alistair launched into an explanation. "Leliana spoke to one of them. She...th eelf...told us that the slavers had warded the doors, so that they would know who entered and exited the building. We had thought we were unnoticed...we were wrong."

     "So they ambushed you." Salem recounted Alistair's words from before. 

     "They were waiting for us in the main shipping area." Alistair continued. "Several armed men and a mage. His accent wasn't Ferelden, so we assume him to be the one Loghain contracted to concoct the plague."

     "To be?" my warden's words were ice. " _To be_ , Alistair? Do not tell me he still lives, or by all that I hold dear, I  _will_..."

     "He's dead." Alistair broke in. "Maker's breath, Salem...we killed him."

     "Not before he managed to send a wave of blood magic against us." Morrigan's acidic tones registered in my hearing. "I managed to shift shape in time to avoid it, and Alistair used his templar gifts, but I am afraid that Leliana was unable to defend herself."

     Salem muttered a venom-laced string of curses under her breath and I winced, knowing that she was tearing her soul to shreds. That she reviled herself for not being with us. That she berated herself for being too hurt to even get to her feet. 

      _Please, my love, such thoughts are useless. What is done is finished. Can we not simply rejoice? Can you just not hold me in your arms, let me savor your skin against mine, treasure what few moments of rest we can wring from our grueling fate._

      _Salem, I...I **love** you. Can that not be enough, for once? Enough to calm the fire that floods through your veins with every beat of your valiant heart. Can our love not be enough? _

     "Salem," Morrigan spoke, a gentleness in her voice that I did not often hear, "even had you been with us, there was nothing you could have done. Wardens are as weak against blood magic as all other creatures."

     "Seal your lips, witch." Salem's cautioned. "Wynne, how...how is she doing?"

     "The cut on her hip will be a painful annoyance, but it is not threatening in the least. She has lost blood, but not a dangerous amount. It is nothing rest, a good meal, and water will not remedy." Wynne replied, her voice closer to me than all the rest. 

     I cracked my eyes open, wincing as the light pierced them. A groan slipped through my lips and Salem pulled the shades closed, anticipating my needs. She stood as far away from the bed as possible, leaning against the wall as though she could fade into it and vanish from sight, from the guilt she needlessly burdened herself with. 

     "Welcome back, Leliana." Wynne drew my eyes to her, smiling with reassurance. "How are you feeling, child?"

     "Dizzy." the room insisted on spinning in front of me, even though my conscious mind knew it was still. "Headache."

     "Salem," Wynne directed, "pull the curtain back, enough so that the light reaches her eyes."

     Light, nauseating, sickening light spilled across my eyes and I closed them as pain spiked through my skull. Wynne's weathered hand stroked through my hair, comforting me, soothing the ache between my temples. 

     "Leliana, I need you to open your eyes. Just for a moment."

     I opened them, letting the light in, swallowing down the bile that rose in my throat. 

     "Your eyes are reacting to the light, dear. This is a good sign. Close the curtain." Wynne ordered and the room became mercifully dark once more. 

     I sagged against the pillows, relieved. 

     "Well?" Salem asked. 

     Wynne ignored her and looked at me. "You have a mild concussion, my dear. Fortunately, it is nothing a simple spell and a night's rest will not fix. I have already tended to the cut across your hip. You should be fully recovered by morning."

     The senior enchanter's hand took on the indicative blue glow of healing magic and she placed her fingertips to my temples. Soothing waves of relief poured through my body, alleviating the churning in my stomach and the pulsating pain behind my eyes. However, behind my happiness lay a sorrow as well. This was the manner in which healing magic was meant to work. Instantaneous mitigation of pain and discomfort, accelerated healing of injuries. 

      _However,_ my eyes went to Salem,  _this gift is torture to the woman I love. She is brought no peace by the touch of magic. For her to be standing, moving...how much agony must she have endured to reach this point?_

     "Thank you." I whispered to Wynne, relaxing against the pillows, allowing the tension in my muscles to ease. 

     Wynne patted my hand, a singularly mothering gesture. "Get some rest, my dear. Salem, I am charging you with her care. Should she fall asleep, wake her every two candlemarks or so, just to be certain that no further damage is done. Any lingering effect the spell that struck her might have possessed was thankfully negated by the mage's death."

     "As you say." Salem replied, brusque. 

     "The rest of you, get out." Wynne commanded. "Wash your clothes, bathe yourselves, and get some rest. We do not know what will transpire next, and it would behoove us to be as ready as we can make ourselves."

     Wynne, Morrigan, and Alistair departed, leaving Salem and me...uncomfortably?...alone. I could feel the crackling, chaotic hum of Salem's energy even from across the room, and knew her so well that her silent thoughts reached my ears. The burden of her guilt was stifling, and entirely unnecessary. She carried too much upon her shoulders. 

      _And it will break her._

     "Salem." I called her name, wanting her away from the wall and closer to me. 

      _I need you._

     My warden pushed off of the wall, her shoulders knotted, arms crossed, hands clenched. 

     "Is there anything you need?" she asked, her tone as cold as it had been towards Alistair. 

     "You." I reached out, extending my hand, praying that she would take it, that she would understand without words, without argument, without guilt. 

     "I am afraid I am not what is best for you at this moment." she still held herself away, moving closer with her body and farther from me with her heart. "Or at any moment, perhaps."

     "How soon you forget your own words." I laughed a little, unable to deny the pang in my chest at her distance. 

     "What did I say?" Salem's brow quirked upward. 

     "That if ever I said something so ridiculous again, you would be forced to spend the rest of your life disproving me."

     "And what bearing as that on  _this_ instance." Salem asked, her voice growing darker. 

     "Now you are the one saying ridiculous things." I smiled, trying to bring her closer to me. "And I would prefer to spend the rest of my life doing...more pleasant...things with you."

     I watched her close, bleakly satisfied as her veneer of ice began to crack. She sat on the edge of the bed, her back to me, heaving a defeated sigh. In my heart warred a distinctive mixture of anger and love. I could not bear her behavior, knowing that she tore herself down for no reason but a self-conceived one. But I could not deny that my heart warmed with the knowledge of the ferocity of her love. Never before had I been valued. Never cherished. Never...fought for. 

     "I should not have asked you to go without me." Salem ran her hands through my hair. "I should have demanded that Wynne heal me. I would have borne the pain. I should have done something...anything to prevent this."

     "Salem," I reached out, resting my hand on the top of her thigh, squeezing softly. "How many times have we traveled this road?"

     "Too many." her thoughts faded into the past, times I had bled, or been in danger.

     I could sense her heartbreak at every instance, feel the guilt that emanated from her being, the anger that wracked her soul. But she needed to understand that I regretted nothing. That for her, I would endure anything. That I needed her in my life as something so much more than what she seemed to perceive herself as. A guardian, a protector...I needed her for more than simply that. Gold could buy protection, a body to stand in front of another and take an arrow or a blade. It could not procure what I needed from her. 

     "Then let this matter rest, my love." I begged her, knowing she could hear the exhausted desperation in my words. "Accept the fact that we are at war, that your body is flesh and bone, not leather and steel. You are my lover, not my shield, and I am offended that you seem to wish only to act in that capacity."

     She turned to face me at last, gazing into my soul with longing, haunted, beautiful, broken eyes. 

     "That...that is not all that I desire." she whispered. "Leli...when you collapsed, I could do nothing. I did not have the strength to move you, nor the skill to help you. I...I was terrified. All I could manage was to hold you...and pray as I never before had."

     I reached up, tracing the scar on her cheek with my thumb, watching her eyes flutter closed in pleasure and regret. 

     "Perhaps, in some moments, that is all I need from you."

     "Not when your life could be in danger." she hissed, tears welling behind her eyes. 

     "Even then, my love." I promised. "Salem, take me at my word, I beg you. Please. I need  _you._ Simply you. Not as my warden, not as my shield, but as the woman I love. No more guilt, no more sorrow, no more burdens that  _are not yours._ I love you. But if you will not allow me to feel guilt when you are hurt, broken, or ill, then you cannot take that guilt on your shoulders. Be my strength, and I will be yours. But we cannot become a weakness to each other, or we shall never stand strong again."

     The tears she had been fighting fell, making her a glorious, grieving goddess in my vision. 

     "I...I do not deserve you." she wept. 

     "Whatever good things life holds in store for you," I drew her face to mine, pressed my lips against hers, "you deserve them, and more."

     "I'm afraid." she confessed, burying her head against my shoulder. "I am afraid, Leliana. Everything I love has been stripped from me, and to think that I sent you into battle...that my drive to end this conflict might have taken you from me...it seems I would engineer my own destruction."

     "I will not let you." I comforted her. "I swear it. And at the end of all things, I will hold you in my arms, I will kiss you, and we will bind each other's wounds. I will let no hand steal that future from me. Trust in that promise."

     "As you say." she lay beside me, wrapped her arms around me like a fortress, and at last I understood the meaning of those three words. 

      _I love you._


	39. The Lives We Abandon

**Salem**

    I sat in a chair, elbows braced against my knees, chin resting on my hands, ignoring the discomfort of my position, and watching Leliana sleep. She had drifted off shortly after the words we shared, and I was grateful. Wynne said that her injuries were light, but seeing her in any sort of pain drove me near into madness. However...I could respect what she had asked of me, and realize that my reaction had been in error. An angry, over-protective lover was not what she needed, nor what she wanted. To be anything to her other than what she wished...could be cruel. 

      _Keep care over her dreams,_ I prayed, silent.  _She must have been exhausted, rescuing me, caring for me, only for me to send her into the fray once more. Please, Maker, give us a brief respite, to recover our strength, to cherish the gifts you have given us, even in the darkest of times._

     A soft knock sounded at the door. 

     "Enter." I called. 

     Alistair came into the room, stroking his hand through his sopping wet hair, making it stand on end. He was dressed in clothes that fit him too loosely, borrowed from Eamon, no doubt. Most of what we wore had been reduced to tatters by battles and the toils of hard journeying. 

      _I want to cover you in silks,_ I smiled at Leliana's face, made innocent and unworried by slumber.  _To provide for you all the finery that you so delight in, to remind you that you are so much more to me than a sword in battle. You are_ _ **everything** to me, Leliana. Everything. _

     "How is she?" Alistair asked, brow furrowing with concern. 

     "Resting, thankfully." I leaned back in the chair, wincing as my abused back protested. 

     Alistair frowned as he watched me, and I looked at the man I called my brother, feeling remorse. I had been too harsh with him of late, and he had not deserved it. He was a good, kind man, and I did not know where I would be without him. He deserved better from me. 

     "Alistair," I called his attention to me, "please forgive me for my earlier harshness towards you. I let my concern override my good judgment, and I am afraid that I spoke in haste, and hurt you when that was not my intention."

     "Spoke in haste?" he mused, a twinkle entering his warm, brown eyes. "And is this the moment where you repent at leisure?" he smiled, letting me know I was forgiven. 

     "I am Salem Cousland, de facto Warden Commander of Ferelden." I mocked myself. "I repent for nothing."

     Alistair chuckled, then sobered. "In truth, Salem, I came to apologize to you. Morrigan and I...well..."

     "I understand." I lifted a hand to silence what would surely be a further, awkward explanation. "The two of you are akin to stone and flint. When struck together, there are bound to be flames."

     "We would not have made it through without Leliana." Alistair admitted. "Your absence from our party was...keenly felt, and I wished to apologize for my failure to take the reins of leadership."

      _Alistair...Alistair...what in the Maker's name am I going to do with you? You did not fail. The mission was a success, and there are many reunited with their families who might have been sold into slavery without you and your actions. I am teaching myself what you must also learn; we cannot save everyone. We cannot always act as we feel we should._

     "You succeeded where many others might have failed, or might not even have attempted, considering those who were being abused." I comforted him. "My only regret in all of this is that we did not know of Loghain's villany sooner. Slavery." I spat the word. "It is the most despicable crime...and yet we cannot save those already sold. It infuriates me beyond the telling."

     "It is small consolation, but at least we have irrefutable proof." Alistair agreed and attempted to better my mood. "Signed in ink, by Loghain's own hand. Whatever platform he intends to take against you in the Landsmeet will not stand."

     I sighed. "Even so, Eamon does not believe it is enough. Many nobles will be willing to overlook Loghain's transgressions against the elves in favor of  _their_  pathetic need for security. I am trying to rebuild a shattered kingdom by unseating the man who aided in giving us our freedom."

     "Your father and mine fought alongside him." Alistair said, surprising me. 

     He did not often claim Maric as his father, even when speaking to those he trusted with the knowledge of his parentage. My heart warmed as I saw the fire burning in Alistair's eyes, the rage he felt, joined with mine. Loghain's crimes would not stand. He would pay for them, no matter what the Landsmeet decided. I would not let him escape without punishment. 

      _And Alistair is acclimating to his fate. Perhaps, if he anticipates what is to come, if he accepts it, it will not be such a heavy burden when he at last must lift it._

     "Alas, our fathers are not alive to stand with us." I replied, a note of sorrow in my voice. "If they were here, none of this would have happened."

     "Were that the case, we would never have known each other." Alistair made a weak attempt at humor. "You would be a noblewoman, trapped in dresses, enmired in court functions, and I would be a templar...restricting mage's freedoms and addicted to lyrium."

     I pursed my lips and nodded. "Bleak fates indeed. So much the better then, that we find our lifetime diminished and our blood joined to that of abominations."

     Alistair pressed his fist against his mouth as he laughed, controlling the volume for the sake of our sleeping companions. 

     "Perhaps destiny intended for us to have limited joy." he acknowledged. "But it will be difficult, even with all the evidence we have gathered, even with Anora's support, to unseat Loghain. Your merry band of followers does not exactly instill confidence. After all, what sort of noble would ally with elves, dwarves, qunari, apostates, and Orlesians?"

     "Not the noble worthy of trust, that is for certain." I massaged my temples, wondering if my headache would ever cease. 

     It had been such a long time since I had woken without the familiar dull pain behind my eyes. The headache that had begun the moment I awoke in Flemeth's hut in the Korcari wilds had done nothing but dim...however, it refused to ever fully vanish. Perhaps, if it did one day leave, I would be at loose ends, uncertain of what to do with myself. 

     "Were you and Eamon able to discuss any other advantages we might pursue?" Alistair asked, moving to the back of the room and pulling up another chair. 

     "Our discourse quickly disintegrated into a shouting match." I muttered, wishing I had sent Alistair away after apologies had been made and forgiveness rendered. 

      _Anything so as to avoid **this** conversation._ 

     "What did he say?" my fellow warden inquired. "To bring you to anger and put that flare in your eyes."

      _How quick you are to trust me,_ I thought, smiling at the man who had become my brother.  _Eamon raised you for a time. Surely you would owe the man who gave you what childhood you had a great deal more than the woman you have known for less than a year. But...such are the times we live in._

     "It was my fault." I sighed, despising myself as I decided that Alistair deserved the entirety of the truth. "For the briefest of moments, I had thought of a match between you and Anora..."

     "I thought you might." Alistair smiled and my face went slack in shock. "I must admit, I considered the idea myself."

     "You did?"

     "Of course. You are not the only person of noble blood in this venture." Alistair blushed and looked away. "While you were...incarcerated...I spent some time thinking of what  _I_ could do to secure our position should...should the worst happen. I have no standing in the bannorn, excepting with you and Eamon, but I  _am_ Maric's son...and marriage to Anora, well...it was the only solution I could conceive."

     "I am...relieved." I admitted, laughing under my breath. "Alas, the tale is not finished. Eamon snatched the notion and absconded with it. He proposed yet another match between Ferelden's historically favored houses."

     Alistair's jaw dropped and he stared at me for a moment of complete silence. "You...you and I? Wedded? Seated on the throne?"

     I nodded. "And thus commenced the shouting match."

     Alistair averted his gaze, looking at Leliana. "You refused the strongest advantage you might have possessed." he said. "For her."

     "For  _love_." I answered. "We are fighting for hope, Alistair, and for freedom. You and I...we have given so much. I did not wish to strip our last choice from either of us. Therefore, my hand shall remain un-fasted, and we will accept Anora's support. Nothing more. You deserve the same gift I was given...to choose whom you will love."

     "That choice was made for me quite some time ago." he looked at me and I saw the light behind his eyes. 

     I knew it for what it was, and my heart grieved for him, and for the gift I could never give.  _It could never be, my brother. It could never be._

     "Alistair..."

     "No." he forestalled my words with a raised hand. "Let us speak no more of this. Thank you, Salem, for placing our hearts before our duties in this instance. I am...grateful." 

      _And in my selfishness, I feel such guilt. You do not know, Alistair. You do not know how these thoughts have tormented me since Eamon brought them into existence. Forgive me, please...forgive me._

     "I am sorry, Alistair." I whispered, apologizing for so much more than what had been said between us. 

     Alistair rose from his chair, looking down at me with more than kindness, more than brotherly affection. It was love, and I could not hide from it. I could not pretend that it did not exist. I knew that I did not deserve it. Alistair was...unsullied by the cruelties of the world. He was truly good, a better man than I could ever hope to be. 

     "I would have loved you, Salem." he smiled, and my heart hurt as I saw the sheen of tears in his warm eyes. "We could have been...content."

     "But not happy." I spoke the bitter truth, not knowing what he would say. 

     "No." he agreed, and my heart sank, even as it lightened. "Not happy. Take care of Leliana, Salem."

     "I shall." 

      _With all that is within me. As long as I have breath._

     Alistair stole from the room, quiet for once, as though he wished to leave no reminder that he had been here, that we had spoken. I had broken his heart, and I knew it...and he had known that I would do it, which made the pain that much greater. He had allowed it...because that was the caliber of man he was. 

     "Salem." Leliana's voice drove the darkness from my mind. 

     With sore, stilted movements I knelt beside the bed, worried. "Did...did you hear..."

     "Enough." her hand reached from beneath the covers and stroked my cheek. 

     "Leliana, I..." 

     "No, my love." her eyes were haunted, but I did not know why. "I think...I think...it could be...what is best."


	40. The Sacrifices Love Might Demand

**Leliana**

   Salem rocked back on her heels, biting her lip until the skin turned white as the pain from the movement washed over her. But she seemed to ignore it as her lips parted with shock and her eyes began to swim with panic and...anguish. 

     "Please," her strong, ever-confident voice trembled and my heart fluttered, "please tell me that you are speaking under the influence of your injuries."

     I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, finding that the room remained where it was and that my headache had vanished. However, I could not enjoy the fact that Wynne's magic had restored me. I had overheard almost the entirety of Salem's conversation with Alistair. He might not have been able to detect the note of regret in her voice as she denied the crown, but I did. I knew her so well. I loved her so much. 

      _I heard your words and your emotions, Salem. I could sense the regret in you, regret that you did not give yourself over entirely for your country. If this...if leaving me...if it could help you, what sort of love would I show if I did not give you the same liberties you allowed me? You were willing to let me sever all ties and walk away...you need not forsake love for love, Salem. I know that you fight for the world. I know that you carry every soul in your heart, every life on your shoulders. I will not be your weakness. If you wish to give your all to Ferelden, then I...I will break my own heart. I will support you._

    "I am of sound mind, and am not speaking in jest." I told her, but I could not meet her eyes, not when the death in the gleamed with such ferocity, such sorrow. 

     "Leliana, you cannot be serious." Salem entreated, still in shock, unwilling to move. "How could you possibly think this is for the best?"

     "Your entire conversation intimated that this course of action might save Ferelden." I tried to help her see as I had seen, even though I screamed within. 

     I did not possess Salem's innate nobility. To speak this way, to say these words...it was against my very nature. I had always been selfish with my heart. I kept it close, giving it to so very few, eliminating the chance that pain might be inflicted, that I might be betrayed. But she deserved better. She deserved the same measure of devotion she had shown me...the same choices. 

     "Leli..." Salem began. 

     "No." I interrupted. If she began to speak, I would lose all resolve. "Your first allegiance is to the wardens, your second is to your blood and your country. I have...I have to wonder...how much better could you serve both if you followed through with Eamon's plans?"

     Salem moved foward, remaining on her knees. She rested her hands on my thighs, looking at me. I could see the entirety of her soul as she gazed at me. So bright. So fierce, passionate, and undaunted. I could fall into that silver-blue and drown...happily.

     "I would prefer to keep my scars on my  _body_." Salem stressed. "I have torn my heart in two so many times that some days I believe it to be non-existent. Why, Leliana, why do you press this?"

     "You..." my voice broke as tears threatened to choke me. 

      _I must be strong. I must allow her to choose. I must alleviate her guilt and give her the opportunity to leave me for her country...it is love that places these words on my lips. Love for you._

      "You heard Alistair." I forced myself to speak. "You would be loved, Salem. You would be cared for, and in a position to keep the peace, protect this land that you love, that your blood is sworn to. You could fight for it, for the good, as your father wished to do."

     "I could not love Alistair." her eyes turned to steel. "I do not want to be forced to love him. My mind is my own, my  _life_ is my own, and so, damn me to the abyss, is my heart! Maker's blood, Leliana, have you gone  _insane!?"_

     "Salem," I stroked my hand through her hair, "I know how much you love Ferelden. I understand how important bringing peace to this fractured land is to you. I...I would not wish to be the sole thing standing between you and the thousands of lives that will be made better by you wearing the crown. Think, Salem, please. You..." 

I trailed off, feeling a stranger to my own body, to my own thoughts. But I...I  _owed_ her this. Her freedom. Her love returned. 

      _Say it, Leliana. For once, wear her courage as though it were your own. Love her as fiercely as she loves you. Break your own heart._

    "You let me go, Salem." I spoke, barely above a whisper. "Once, you let me go. And I learned why. So that I could chart my own path. So that I might discover my true desires. What...what manner of person, what manner of lover would I be if I did not give you that same freedom?"

     "No." Salem shook her head, tears streaming from her eyes.

     She buried her face in my lap, clinging to me as her body trembled with silent sobs. Her hands clutched at my shirt, and I could feel them shaking. 

     " _Whatever gods exist,"_ Salem cried, " ** _deafen_** _me!"_

     The anguish in her words drove knives into my soul. My hands wanted to reach out, to lift her face to mine, to mend her wounds with a kiss. But I would not be a chain, a tether...yet another burden. I would not enslave her, not even to a mistress sweet as love. I kept my hands away, though I knotted the sheets between my fingers, desperate for something to cling to...something that was not Salem. 

      _But I do not have such a thing. I discovered as much when I left her in the Frostback mountains. She is my heart, my soul...my entire world. The true cruelty of our love is that her world is...so much larger than I._

"Salem," tears spilled over my eyes. I could not restrain them, not even for her sake. "Salem, I..."

     "Do you," she interrupted in a heart-rending, fractured whisper, "do you not love me any longer, Leliana?" She lifted her swollen, tear-razed eyes to mine. "I...I can understand that. If you are attempting to let me go, if I am no longer in your heart, I can understand, truly. I can. Just...tell me if it is so, dear heart. I beg you." her head dropped again and a gentle whisper wafted to my ears. "I beg you."

     I bit my lip, knowing that history and fate and future hung in this moment. I knew that I could lie; that I could jam a crown around her temples, shove her into another's arms, and do what was best for Ferelden and all of Thedas. I could sit here as she walked away from me. I could watch as she entered a life that, as I had had previously acknowledged, would kill her. 

      _I could tell you, Salem. I could open my lips and swear that I had lost affection for you, that all my words of late have been pretense, but to do that would slay me. I would well and truly die. I suppose, at the end of things, I am not as strong as I desire to be. I will not lie, Salem, but I also require your assurance that you do this for yourself, and not for me._

     "I will never cease loving you." I said. "My heart is entwined with yours, and I wish that bond never be rent asunder." Salem's eyes brightened. "But...I will not be the sole reason that you deny your chance to bring this land to peace. If your love for me is all that is driving you, then I will set you free."

     A smile struck Salem's face like a bolt of lightning. It bloomed inside her eyes, driving out the pain, the fear, the agony. 

     "My beautiful fool." she reached out and stroked my tears away. I shivered at the feel of her skin on mine. "I have been in chains since the day I first took breath. My blood belonged to Ferelden, then. Now, it belongs to the wardens. If you free me, I will find myself still in those same chains, with no hope of escape. You  _are_ my freedom Leliana, and I desire that...I  _selfishly_ desire that above all else. Believe me, heart's dearest, for the sake of my sanity,  _believe_ me."

     I slid off of the bed and tumbled into her arms, delirious with spent fear and gratitude. I pressed my body against hers, savoring her warmth and, in spite of her grievous injuries, her strength. I captured her lips with my own, tasting her tears, her passion, the very heart of our future. 

     "Promise me," I breathed as the kiss broke, "promise me that you will not regret this."

     "I swear it." she cradled me against her, pressing her lips to my hair. "I swear it."

     "I  _love_ you, Salem Cousland." I whispered. "I love you with all that I am, so completely that I fear it is a sin."

     "Then we sin together." she lifted my chin and grazed my lips with a kiss, heartbreaking in its gentleness. "Marry me, Leliana."

     I drew away, shocked. I did not doubt the truth of her words; I could not when faced with the light and love burning in her damaged eyes. I simply...never before had we spoken of such a promise, such a bond, too afraid that we would be ripped apart at any moment. Too afraid that one of us would bid the other farewell too soon. 

     "What?" seemed to be the sole word I could manage. 

     "Promise your life to me, as I wish to be promised to you." Salem entreated, the strangest smile on her lips, the death nearly erased from her eyes. 

     Salem looked down and lifted her hand. I saw the spiderwebbing blue scars that made her so different, that had marked her forever. I also saw the thick, angry mark made by Cauthrien's knife. Salem took her scarred hand in her other, unscarred one, and drew her signet ring, her sole adornment, and held it before my eyes. I saw the engraved image of the rampant mabari stamped in the metal that was not precious, not valuable, but suddenly the most precious thing in my existence. 

     She held the ring out to me. "Be my wife, Leliana of Orlais." she entreated. "And give me the great honor...of allowing me to love you for the rest of my life."

      _Maker above,_ my throat went dry and my heart fluttered like a hummingbird's wings in my chest.  _I have not...I did not...I have never given thought to our future beyond the archdemon, save the idle dreams of a lover. This...this is permanence, a promise...hope. Hope that I wish, so desperately, to cling to. Forever._

     "Yes." I nodded my head, the tears spilling down my face now tears of joy. "A thousand lifetimes of yes, Salem."

     I looked down as she slid her signet ring on the third finger of my left hand. It was said that a vein in that finger led directly to the heart. And my heart and hand now belonged to her in a way that it had not before. I would be hers for eternity, and I wanted nothing more. 

      _A life lived where...where I am loved. Cherished. This is...so foreign to me, and it is all that I want in the world. **You** are all that I want in the world._ 

     "I love you." Salem whispered, closing the distance between us. 

     Her lips were moments from mine when the door burst open, revealing a panting, wide-eyed Alistair. 

     "Salem." he gasped. "Loghain...pre-empted...called the Landsmeet...early. We have to get to Fort Drakon...soon."

     Joy lay forgotten, and our future was put on hold as Salem rose to her feet, steel in her eyes, ice in her veins. Gone was the soft, gentle woman who had held me in her arms and placed her ring on my finger. In her place stood the Warden Commander of Ferelden and Teyrna of Highever. 

     "Gather the others." she ordered, and Alistair fled the room. 

     I rose, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. I did not know what to say, or who to be. All I knew was that imminent danger lay before us...danger and the promise of defeat. 

     "Salem..."

     "Are you well enough to join us?" Salem asked, her voice calm, sweet, and caring. "I do not want to risk you being further hurt."

      _You are asking this of me?_ I thought, incredulous.  _Your back is a mass of scabs and healing wounds. You are resting the majority of your weight on one leg because of the vicious puncture wounds in the other. Your hand is still not at full strength and...you are weaker than you believe, my love. You will need all of our strength to help carry you through this. I just pray that you accepted it._

     "I am quite well." I assured her, watching the subtle tension in her body ease. 

     It saddened me, a distant ache in the lonely recesses of my heart. Not moments before I had experienced the greatest of joys. Now, I lifted heavy plate armor onto a back that was not strong enough to bear the weight. I placed weapons in the hands of one who could not physically wield them. This was my life. 

     I stepped back, taking in the imposing vision of my lover. 

      _This is my love...and such things as this will be a part of our lives...forever. I have accepted it thus far. This ring, this new promise, does not mean that anything will change. It is simply an agreement to stand with each other...no matter what may come._


	41. The Mercy I Cling To

**Salem**

    The doors of Fort Drakon groaned as Sten and Oghren pushed them open. Loghain's guards stood, weapons drawn against us, stopped only by the swirling flames and crackling lightning of Morrigan and Wynne's magic. It held them back with a wordless threat. Loghain had given orders that any who came under Arl Eamon's banner were to be stopped at the gates and forbidden entry, at the point of the sword if need be. 

      _Well,_ I smirked as I walked past the terrified guards with my head held high, Alistair at my left and Leliana at my right,  _I can tell their liege lord that they attempt to stop us was made. However, Nothing will keep me from this moment, not force, not trickery, not circumventing the laws of the Landsmeet. I will **not** let that coward decimate Ferelden on the eve of a Blight._ 

     "Thank you," I smiled at the soldiers as they backed away from the magic, "for understanding my position. Loghain will be informed of your complicit loyalty. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a Landsmeet to disrupt."

     I moved through the gates and Sten and Oghren closed them. I thanked them with a nod, and smiled at my two mage companions. We walked through the silent halls. Not even a servant was visible, and I could hear angry tones emanating from behind another set of barred doors that led to the main hall of Fort Drakon. It was Loghain who spoke; I would recognize his imperious pomposity anywhere, even if I could not hear the words he spoke. 

      _He is decrying both the Grey Wardens and Cousland...spinning lies when we are not present to defend ourselves. This is madness, Loghain. You have lost your mind to conspiritorial fear. You see enemies where there are non, and blaspheme those who would aid you in protecting Ferelden from the **true** threat._  

     I strode forward, ready to put an end to this. To all of it. The Grey Warden's contracts had been fulfilled. I had shed blood, lost my life once, lost my eyesight, and crossed the entire country on foot in order to reach this place. This is where the end would begin. 

     I would clear Cousland's name, set a Theirin on the throne, and end this damn Blight. Then, and only then, could I have my future. I smiled, looking at the determined set of Leliana's countenance, the worry in her gaze visible to me alone. 

      _Do not fret, dear heart. I know you are worried that this will disintegrate into violence. I know I am still in no condition to wield a sword. There was no time to complete my healing and...for that, I am sorry. But I promise you, my love, should this come to blows, I will stand steadfast and strong. I will not lose. I have too much to live for._

     "Come no further, Warden Cousland." a voice iced through my veins, taking me back into Howe's dungeons, opening wounds that Wynne's magic had closed. 

     Ser Cauthrien stood before me, the Summer Sword in her hand. She favored her left side, using the weight of the blade to steady herself. Leliana had told me of Cauthrien's odd words, her insistence that I be rescued. Leliana had also told me of the blade she shoved between Cauthrien's ribs; that she had left Loghain's knight there to bleed. 

     Still, even though she was wounded, and possibly as incapable of fighting as I...I could not rein in my emotions. 

     Hatred. Loathing. Disgust. Fear. This woman had subjected me to torture. My dreams were filled with her bloodthirsty smile, her harsh and terrifying questions. 

     "Are you still Loghain's loyal lapdog, Cauthrien?" I asked. "Still dashing about at his beck and call, doing his bidding, torturing innocents?"

     Her face blanched and she had the decency to look...almost ashamed. But her eyes hardened, her features evened, and she frowned. Cauthrien was a woman who could not be broken, and her loyalty had been sworn. 

     "I am under the orders of the Regent of Ferelden. You are not to be allowed past this point. In truth, I am shocked that you are alive."

     "I could very well say the same." I smiled. "Leliana is quite deadly, Ser Cauthrien. I am surprised that you have the strength to stand. After your failure to keep me incarcerated, I am certain Loghain spared you the gentle touches of his healers."

     Cauthrien tore her eyes away from mine, giving me all the truth that I needed. She had been left to tend to her own wounds as punishment for her failure. I frowned. Loghain had sent her to stop me, and in doing so, had sent her to her own death. He was casting her away, even after she had sworn her life to him. Fire burned in my heart, erasing my grudge against this woman. 

      _Loyalty that fierce, even skewed, even used to harm, should **never** be abused._ 

     "I see." I stepped forward, noting the hitch in Leliana's breath as I did so. "There is no need for this, Cauthrien. You let me be rescued. That means that, in some way, you must have doubted Loghain's words, his fabricated truths against my family and my calling. You do not deserve this."

     "Do not come one step closer, Cousland." she warned me, readying her blade, her brows pinching together as she winced. 

     "Or what?" I asked, coming closer, positioning my body in reach of her blade, should she choose to strike. "Think, Cauthrien,  _please._ I am offering to let you go, to seek out your own life. I offer you this after you had me beaten, after you drove your blades into my body, after you suspended me from chains and watched as I was  _flogged_. I have more reason than any in Thedas to end your life, but I would let you go. And Loghain, the man you serve, the patron you adore...when you 'failed' him, he left you to bleed out on the floor of a dungeon. He forced you to drag yourself out of there and bind your own wounds as best you could. Did he even look at you when you staggered before him, clutching the hole in your body...or did he dismiss you with a flicker of his eyes?

     "You  _dare..._ "

     I raised my hand, silencing her. "I am not yet finished. You are wounded, you are weak, and Loghain has sent you to stop me yet again, by force if necessary. He sent you against the  _one_ person who has ever defeated you in combat."

     I smiled, watching shock spread over her face. "That was...you?" she wondered. 

     "It was years ago." I nodded, remembering the stilted joy of my past. "You were undefeated in single combat. Loghain was already grooming you for his personal guard. Tournaments were held in honor of Cailan and Anora's marriage and you entered, to bring pride to House Mac Tir. One by one you cut down your opponents, until you faced the last one. I wore a mask, and wielded two full longswords. That day you ceded to the hermit noble's daughter, the scandal of Highever."

     "I lost to you." Cauthrien whispered, remembering the truth. 

     I smiled, remembering quitting the field after earning my victory. They announced a false name, and a Ser Gilmore took credit for my victory. When my mother found out that it was in fact I who had competed...she nearly tore me in half. After she had left, in high dudgeon, my father and Fergus entered my room and we shared a bottle of brandy, toasting my victory. Those had been...happier times. 

     I looked to the love of my life, watching her eyes dart between Cauthrien and me. She had seen the balance of power shift with the knowledge of this past connection. However, she had experienced too many tricks and schemes to believe that the shift would remain permanent. Her eyes filled with worry and her hand fidgeted, twisting my signet ring around her finger. 

      _Keep calm, dear heart. I believe that this is a battle I can win without blades._

     "Loghain has sent you to your death." I finished, hoping, praying that the knight would forego her loyalty and pride in the face of truth. 

     Cauthrien's knuckles whitened as she gripped the hilt of her sword. "As you said, that transpired years ago. You could not emerge victorious now, Salem. I broke your body with these hands, you cannot be hale and hearty yet. I can  _still_ wield this blade."

     "You should not have to." I replied, stepping in yet closer, challenging her with my very presence. "Not against me. Cauthrien, if the warden's 'schemes' were existent, as Loghain claims, your torture would have broken me. I am not so strong a woman as to conceal the truth when faced with the level of torment you visited upon me. Those here with me can tell you, I fight only in defense of the truth. Believe that now, as you began to in Howe's dungeons."

     "You do not understand, Cousland." Cauthrien spat. "If I fail in this, I forfeit my life. Loghain made that quite evident when tasking me with this."

     "If you raise that sword against me, your life will already be forfeit." I warned her. "The one way you keep your life is to  _let me through those doors_."

     "And how do you know that I desire to live? I have failed my liege lord. I have let his enemy escape to fight him another day." Cauthrien baited me. "Why do you seem to insist that I desire my survival."

     "Are you not human?" I smiled. "You cannot convince me that your life means nothing. Life means something to you. If it did not, you would have killed Leliana instead of letting her rescue me. In light of that, cease working for a man who uses lives as if they are inconsequential."

     The knight cocked her head, considering my request. "Convince me that you are the better choice, Salem. The better patron, as it were. Convince me  _well_."

     "I let you take me." I answered, shrugging my shoulders. "I could have fought; could have won, but I let you  _chain_ and  _torture_ me. I endured all of that so that I could protect those who have sworn their lives to my cause. Loghain shoves you forward into battle in his name, just as he quit the field in selfish disgust after the beacon was lit. You were there. You remember."

     "I do." she answered, shame passing over her features for the first time. "I thought it quite wrong at first, until Loghain convinced me...convinced us all...that the loss was the fault of the wardens. He is a  _legend,_ Cousland. You must understand..."

    "I..."  _how can I believe these words_ "...I harbor you no ill will, Cauthrien. Loghain has caught too many in his traps. Too many lives have been lost. In spite of what has happened, in spite of what you have done, and what I have done...I did not and do not wish to see you fall."

     She lifted her sword with labored movements, placing it into its sheath. A collective sigh of relief rushed from the lungs of my companions. 

     "Go through." Cauthrien whispered, broken. "But if you emerge any less than victorious, I will tirelessly devote myself to ending your life. I will not fight for a lie again, Cousland."

     "Live well." I told her as she turned away. "You are forgiven."

     Her eyes flashed to mine, filled with wrath. "I apologized for  _nothing._ " she hissed. 

     "I know." I told her. "The words were not for you. You are forgiven, regardless."

     Cauthrien huffed and stalked away, to sort out her own demons and discover her own truths. Leliana's breath shuddered out and her hand slipped into mine, squeezing it hard, expending her pent-up fear. I smiled at her, attempting to provide comfort, to let her know that all would be well. 

      _There is still so much to do. Beginning with what lies beyond those doors._ _  
_

I looked once more at my beautiful betrothed, then strode forward and threw open the doors to the main hall, my eyes roving over the room, glancing at the nobles assembled.

      _Thus, it begins._


	42. The Risks She Takes for Others

**Leliana**

    We entered the Great Hall of Fort Drakon, the place where kings were made and broken. The rhetoric of a madman blistered our ears. Loghain stood on the floor, between two crowded balconies, gesturing wildly and spewing acid. 

     "...and where is this warden, this self-proclaimed  _hero_ of Ferelden, when the Landsmeet is called? Nowhere to be seen! Afraid to face charges of treason, afraid to reckon with the truth! And the  _truth_ is that the wardens  _abandoned_ Ferelden at Ishal! That they doomed our young king to death! That they bring the darkspawn upon us as a plague! I tell you the truth, nobles of Ferelden, men and women whom I have fought alongside, when the wardens are ousted from this country, the darkspawn  _will follow them!_ There  _is_   _ **no**_ Blight!"

     Salem leaned against one of the balcony's support pillars, an odd smile on her lips. She watched Loghain with intent, as a bard would, hearing his words and planning her strategy. The rest of us slipped beneath the balcony, into the shadows. Alistair hid in the crowd, fearing this moment more than he had feared anything in his life. I sent a silent prayer to the Maker, to give Ferelden's future king strength in the face of fear and adversity. 

     My eyes ventured to my warden, and I prayed fervently for her. She had risked so much already...her very life, in fact. 

      _I cannot believe that she sent Cauthrien on her way._ I thought, replaying the events that had transpired before we entered this room.  _And that she had the strength to forgive her torturer...even I, who served the Maker in his own house, could not hope to achieve that level of light. She truly is...unbelievable._ I turned the ring I now wore on my finger, admiring the way the metal caught the light, how if felt secure, snug... _right_...against my skin.  _And this unbelievable woman...is mine._

     "The warden would tell you that she is from Ferelden's noble House Cousland." Loghain continued, oblivious to our entrance. "She would claim ownership of Highever. But I tell you, all of the Couslands were wiped out when their treachery was discovered. This warden is nothing more than a fear-mongering deceiver! A liar! One who would usurp remembered nobility and adulterate it for her own ends!"

     "Is that so?" Salem asked, breaking her silence, pushing off of the pillar and joining Loghain in the center of the room. She looked at the assembled bannorn. "Nobles of Ferelden," she spoke, her voice smooth, calm, possessing none of Loghain's heat, "I come to you as one of your own blood and yes, also as a Grey Warden. I stand before a man who claims that I will not defend myself to you; that I fear the truth. However, I tell you this. If Loghain's words were truth, then I  _would_ be afraid. I would be in hiding. Contrary to his logic, I stand here, come before you to say that no greater treachery has been committed than that of House Mac Tir against the throne of Ferelden."

     "Lies and heresy!" Loghain fumed. 

     Salem laughed and I questioned the advisability of that action. Perhaps she meant to enrage the man and loosen his tongue...perhaps to simiply laugh. 

     "You imprisoned your own daughter and named yourself Queen's Regent, Loghain? Why? The king is dead. Your daughter sits the throne. Did you find her unfit? Has Ferelden not prospered under Cailan and Anora's rule? What possible reason can you conjure for the usurpation of your own daughter's crown?"

     A ripple of words rose and fell amongst the assembled nobles. Alistair went pale. 

      _If ever there was a moment for Anora to emerge, this would be the time,_ I thought, scanning the crowd for the queen. 

     She had not been found at the estate before our departure. Salem had shrugged her shoulders and claimed that it was in the Maker's hands. However, if the queen refused to make good on her word, I would be forced to make good on mine. I had never left a promise unfulfilled. A bard's very existence was treason; committing this one would be simply done, and accomplished without guilt. 

     "My daughter is young yet." Loghain claimed. "I took what actions I did in her best interests, for her protection. You and your wardens have already  _slaughtered_ our king! How was I to know that my beloved daughter was not the next target of your ill intent!?"

     "I am Salem Cousland, daughter of Bryce Cousland, Teyrn of Highever." she spoke, still calm, still in control of her emotions. "I have never raised a hand against an innocent noble of Ferelden, a vow we all have sworn. I cannot say the same for you, Loghain. You had me held against my will. You commanded your soldiers to  _torture_ me. Assembled nobles of the bannorn..."

     "Look at her!" Loghain interrupted, fierce. "Standing strong before you! Does she look like a victim of torture? Bryce Cousland, Maker rest his traitorous heart, was never as faithful to Ferelden as the rest of us! How many of you know his children by their faces? How are we even to know that you are his daughter, warden?" Loghain paced in a feral circle around Salem. "Where is your proof? Have any of you," he spread his hands out to the nobles, " _seen_ her at court functions? How are we to know that the wardens did not take one of their own, re-christen her as the daughter of an extinct House, and use her for their  _own dastardly ends!?_ "

     Again the ripple and stir of conversation. Too many heads were nodding in agreement with Loghain's words. 

      _Salem told me as much._ I recalled.  _She told me that her father was called "the hermit noble"; that he only ever appeared at court when absolute **need** of him was had. He wanted his children to grow with his wisdom, not surrounded by intrigue and corrupted morals. I fear his good intentions have brought his daughter no kindness. _

     "You ask for proof of my identity?" Salem queried. "You say that I stand as though I have not known injury?" She noticed the nodding of heads and the whispers of doubt and speculation. "Very well." she sighed. "Members of the bannorn, I pray you indulge me. Might I see a show of hands...how many of you served with my father and Teyrn Loghain in the war against Orlais?"

      _What is she doing?_ I wondered. Her only proof of her claims, her heritage, was the ring around my finger, and she would not reveal that I wore it...not today...not in this place.  _Salem...how..._

     Several men and women raised their hands and Salem nodded. 

     "First," she began, "I thank you for the freedoms that this country possesses, because of your sacrifices. Second, Teyrn Loghain, I respectfully request the aid of your personal healer."

     Loghain's black eyes narrowed, wondering at Salem's game. "Why?"

     "You have said it yourself, have you not?" Salem asked, feigning innocence. "That one would know a true Cousland by their inability to bear a healer's touch? I am afraid I am not quite recovered from my less than pleasant stay in your dungeon. I have a mage accompanying me who would be more than willing to assist in this demanded proof of my heritage. But, lest you doubt her integrity as well, I would prefer this be done by one whom  _you_ trust."

     "This is preposterous!" Loghain sputtered. "what do you hope to gain by this!?"

     "Let the girl do as she says." a voice called from above. "I stood with Bryace in the Battle for the Brecilian Forest. I helped him to the healer's tent after he took a sword wound to the leg. I saw him healed, and it was no natural event. However, I will not believe even this, Grey Warden, if you do not give the bannorn evidence of your supposed injuries."

     "As you say." Salem assented, and blood drained from my face. 

     Alistair and Wynne moved from the crowd and assissted Salem with the removal of her armor. I saw the senior enchanter whisper something in my warden's ear, and Salem shook her head. I knew that Wynne had attempted to caution her against this course of action...and Salem had refused. 

     After the plates of armor were set aside, Salem stripped off her shirt, revealing the extent of her un-healed injuries. My throat tightened as I saw the landscape of scabs across her back, the deep blue bruising across her ribs and abdomen, the gruesome gash along the left side of her ribs, still blackened by the iron that had cauterized it. It was quite clear to all assembled that my lover had been beaten and flogged...that Death itself had brushed her, and come entirely too close to taking her from us. 

     Gasps echoed around the room, and the more genteel ladies were forced to turn their heads. Even some of the younger men, who had never seen their father's wars, became pale. Salem rotated, slow, giving every eye the chance to see the wreck that Loghain's orders had made of her body. 

     "Is this acceptable, ser?" she asked the man who had demanded evidence.

     "Maker's breath." the same man spoke. "Loghain, as the bannorn demands, bring forth your healer."

     The self-appointed regent frowned and with a curt jerk of his hand, a young man, dressed in mage's robes, stepped forward. 

     "Heal the bitch." Loghain snarled, knowing he was beaten, at least at this game. 

      _Salem!_ My heart shrieked with worry as the young mage's hands began to glow.  _Please, my love, is this truly **necessary**? What if...what...Salem, your heart could  **stop** if the mage does not measure his magic! This is too  **dangerous!**_

     A gentle hand squeezed my shoulder and I looked into Wynne's equally anxious eyes. 

     "I am frightened." I admitted, and she nodded. 

     "It will be all right, child." she comforted me, though I knew that she, too, had doubts. 

     Loghain's mage pressed his hands to Salem's back and my warden's jaw clenched. Her face went white as the glow of healing magic swirled around her. The blue of her bruises faded to a yellowish green; the stitches across her back began to fray. 

      _He is using too much!_ I wanted to scream.  _He is healing her too quickly; she is too weak! Her body will not endure the strain!_ _  
_

Still, the mage pressed his spell. Salem screamed and the horrid, sickening sound echoed through the room. My warden fell to her knees, shuddering, retching in gut-wrenching dry heaves. Her back arched and she lurched forward, supporting herself on trembling arms until those, too, gave out. She fell to the floor in a shuddering heap and the healer backed away, clearly frightened by her reaction.

     I started towards her, needing to know if she was still alive, if she was all right. Wynne clutched the back of my leather jerkin, restraining me. I fought her hold until I turned and saw the tears welling in the old woman's eyes. 

     "She must do this alone." the healer whispered. 

      _Please be all right, Salem._ I begged, seeing that her shuddering had stopped. I needed her to move again. I needed her to be alive.  _Open your eyes, please. Please, Maker, **please.** Give her strength. She  **cannot** do this alone...and yet she must._ 

      Slow, too slow, Salem opened her eyes and raised her head. The lines of tears and sweat were visible on her face; her skin was still many shades too pale. She pushed herself up, rising onto her knees. She gritted her teeth and swayed, but somehow managed to stagger to her feet and face the bannorn. A young man returned her shirt and with stilted, haggard movements, she put it on. 

     "I am Salem Cousland." she stated, and I saw the expressions on the noble's faces change; watched doubt become belief. "I am a noble of Ferelden. A Grey Warden. By the right of the Landsmeet, by the laws of our country," she smiled as her eyes crossed mine, "you will hear me out."


	43. The Man Who Became a King

**Salem**

    My breath came in short, jerking gasps. My eyes burned with sweat and tears, and I did not know how I had manged to stand. I had proven my heritage in the most excruciating way that existed. I had been given no other choice. To show my signet ring would merely prove that I had been at Highever, perhaps a petty thief that Duncan had conscripted after I was caught preying on noble's corpses. Loghain would have spun that tale and the Landsmeet would have believed him. 

     I had no other recourse but my hereditary reaction to healing magic. In a way, at this time, my curse had become my blessing. 

     Aftershocks of pain shivered through me and my knees threatened to buckle. I shored them up by sheer force of will, refusing to collapse. I could not falter when my country, my people, and all that my father had fought to preserve stood before me, on the brink of destruction. 

      _I will not fail my house of my blood. Always, we have stood for and protected Ferelden. I **will** do the same._ 

     "Warden Cousland," an arlessa addressed me. "You declared that Regent Loghain imprisoned the queen, his own daughter. Have you any evidence to prove your claims, or was this Landsmeet called so that we might watch two nobles bring baseless accusations against one another?"

     "The warden cannot show you evidence." a clear voice spoke from the dais. 

     Anora swept out from behind the curtain, chin tilted high, golden hair bound back in an impeccable bun, far from the wreck of a frightened girl I had met in Howe's estate. She appeared regal, worthy of the crown her father had wrested from her head. 

     "Salem Cousland has my testimony against my father."

     "Anora." Loghain hissed, glaring at his flesh and blood, his sole remaining family, with fire in his eyes. "This is  _not_ the time."

     "Time for what, father?" she asked, haughty. "Time to tell those who would place their trust in you that you usurped the crown from your own child?"

     "Your husband was dead!" Loghain thundered, scandalizing all who would attempt to keep a noble bearing. I felt as though I watched a fishmonger in the streets, screaming at an inefficient slave. "You might well have been next! I took  _every_ precaution for  _your_ safety! But you would not be persuaded..."

     "And extreme measures became necessary?" Anora looked to the crowd, and addressed them. "My father..." she hesitated, "...is a good man.  _Was_ a good man. Many of you owe him your lives. Many of you owe him your prosperity. But, in his current state, he would upset the balance we have fought so hard to protect. I ask you, teyrns and teyrnas, arls and arlessas, banns... _Fereldens..._ abandon your support of him. Many of you remember Bryce Cousland as I do, fondly. His daughter, in keeping with the ever-vaunted Cousland honor, rescued me when my father tore the crown from my hands. She suffered for that, dearly. But here she stands, a noble of Ferelden, protecting her country. Salem has kept her vow; my father has not."

     "Your majesty," another voice spoke from the balcony, but my vision had blurred to the point I could not see who had raised their voice. "Is it true that Loghain subjected the warden to torture, and, in so doing, broke the noble's code?"

     "Salem sacrificed her safety for my own; this is all I can tell you with assurance. However, all of you witnessed her injuries." Anora looked to me, her green eyes apologetic. 

      _I understand._ I nodded my head, allowing her to keep her family's dignity.  _She will admit that Loghain's grip on sanity is tenuous, but to confess before all Ferelden that he broke the code he himself established...Mac Tir would lose everything. For the friendship we once shared, Anora, I will grant you this small allowance._

     "Thank you, your majesty." the voice responded and the low hum of conversation continued. Anora withdrew, having said all she needed to...all she could bear. 

     Slow, I turned, facing Leliana, struggling to stay standing. I thanked my lover with my eyes. Anora's words had strengthened our position. 

      _You made it possible, dear heart. You, who have ever been my strength, have become my success as well. There will not be enough years left in time to convey how much you mean to me. There will never be enough time to repay my debts...even were I not cursed to die young._

     "Bah." Loghain huffed. "Trickery. Chicanery. Bribery and blackmail. You would hold my daughter's life at ransom, Cousland, until she quotes your falsehoods word for word. I know your game,  _traitor._ You would set one of your own, a  _blighted Grey Warden,_ on the throne of Ferelden. While he may be Maric's son, he is an ill-educated, ill-trained, ill-equipped bastard!" he shouted. 

     I caught Alistair's eyes in the crowd. He flinched, but obeyed my silent order to come forward. He moved to stand beside me and I rested my hand on his shoulder, a sign of endorsement, but also because I did not know how much longer I could stand. My warden brother's eyes flared as he felt the measure of weight I placed on him, but he held firm. 

     "This is no time for doubt." I whispered to him. "You are the very image of your father. You possess his strength, you possess his wisdom, and you do not share his sins. I am with you, Alistair. I  _am with you_ , and I  _ **need**_ you."

     He nodded. "Say what you must, Salem."

     "You let a king abandon his child." I glared at Loghain, remembering Eamon's words. 

      _Loghain knew._

     "You cast a boy adrift without a father. Lords and ladies assembled, look at this man! He is a warden, yes, but his features are Theirin, his blood is that of kings! He  _fights_ for this country while Loghain attempts to rip it apart at the seams. Alistair has been wounded in battle; he has sacrificed all that he is for the protection of innocents. What better man to sit on the throne? Not a child who dreams of grandeur as Cailan did, Maker rest his soul; but a  _man_ who has seen trial, killed enemies, known hunger and the plight of the common man."

     I took a deep, shuddering breath, straining not to cough. I witnessed the skepticism on the faces of Ferelden's leaders. Maric's indiscretion was little known, but Loghain had cemented Alistair's identity, screaming it out before the Landsmeet. 

      _Anger a fool and the truth will emerge,_ I smirked, remembering a piece of Eleanor Cousland's wisdom.  _Thank you, mother. I hope you can see me now, the child born for your sorrow...I **did** listen, mother. I learned well._ 

     "A puppet king for your wardens!" Loghain fumed, furious. "It does not matter that he is Maric's own son! What matters are his allegiances! Tell me,  _boy_ ," he sneered, addressing Alistair, "whom do you serve?"

     Alistair swallowed, hard. His eyes flitted wildly around the room, and my heart broke for what I had done. I could not step forward as I always had for him. I could not speak for him. This would be his defining moment, and I begged all the gods that the strength I  _knew_ resided in his spirit would come forth and  _triumph._

      _Maker, give him that strength,_ I prayed, noticing Wynne's closed eyes, Leliana's lips moving in silent supplication. I removed my hand from his shoulder, biting my lip as my knees threatened to cave once more. I shored them up and every nerve ending in my back and ribs  _shrieked_  in agony. 

     Alistair strode forward, standing in front of Loghain, his shoulders squared, his stance...regal. I smiled in spite of my pain. 

     "I serve the people." Alistair answered Loghain's query, iron in his tone. "And I would serve Ferelden as I do the wardens. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. I cannot be the man my father was, and I am  _not_ the man my brother was."

     Alistair began moving, drawing the eyes of the crowd to him, standing proud in his polished armor. He held his head high, his eyes were bright with fervor, and in my mind's eye I saw the crown resting on his head. 

     "I  _am_ the man Cailan  _wished to be!_ " Alistair declared, his voice proud, unwavering. "I have fought, and will  _continue_ fighting for this country, and I will destroy any who would dare infringe Ferelden's borders with as much intensity as I battle the darkspawn that threaten us now!  _Loghain_ ," he flung an accusatory finger at the man, "who preaches of freedom, who builds a pedestal for himself on the bones of soldiers who  _died_ for our liberty, has sold those who seek our protection into slavery!"

     Gasps echoed from the rafters and off the stone floor of the room. I smiled at Alistair as black spots danced in front of my eyes, threatening to carry me into darkness. But my warden brother's hands were shaking, his hair was dampened with sweat, and he  _needed me_. I forced myself to remain awake, to ignore the pain, and to be at Alistair's side...as he had ever been at mine. 

      _He has spoken as a king would. This **is** your role, my brother. The Maker intended you for such a time as this. Maric's indiscretion may well have been the inadvertent salvation of Ferelden. Your part in this battle is done, Alistair. Let me continue the fight from here. _

     Alistair stepped away from the center of the room, followed by the admiring gazes of young men newly ascended to their father's positions, and young women who giggled and hid coy smiles behind their fans. Older men stroked their beards in thought and many eyes that had turned cold at the mention of Maric's bastard began to thaw. 

     "What is this, Cousland?" Loghain snarled at me. "You have your puppets bringing their own accusations now?"

     "No." I stated, forcing my eyes to stay open. 

      _Maker, I am tired. Loghain's mage used too much magic. The spell to heal me is draining my strength...what little I had managed to regain._

     "Alistair discovered this treason for himself, Loghain." Zevran handed me the rolled parchments and vanished back into the crowd. 

     I unrolled the slaver's contracts and held them up before the bannorn, allowing them to see Loghain's seal and his distinctive, sprawling signature. 

     "These are contracts," I handed the papers to servants, who disseminated them amongst the Landsmeet, "with Nevarra, Antiva, Tevinter, and yes, even  _Orlais,_ to provide them with slave labor from Ferelden's alienage."

     The conversations rose to a dull roar and I waited for a response from the assembled nobles. Loghain tapped his armored boot on the stone floor, impatient, anxious. 

     "You present compelling evidence, warden." one of the banns spoke. "However, Ferelden  _is_  in crisis. Our coffers are in need of gold. In light of that fact...well...they are only  _elves_."

     Anger gripped me as I watched several hoary heads not in agreement. Loghain smiled at me, a man who had committed a crime, and feared no punishment. Fury boiled in my veins and my vision flashed white, giving more reason to stand against those who would oppress the already downtrodden. 

      _They.     Will.     Burn._


	44. The Fire in Her Heart

**Salem**

    I held a calming hand to my lips, stilling what words I felt might come forth. Salem's face went another shade of white, but not from the pain wracking her body. This, we all had witnessed...in the Brecilian Forest when Zathrian's treachery was laid bare. In the Deep Roads, when Paragon Branka had, in her madness, spoken of condemning unwilling souls to Shale's fate. In the Frostback Mountains, when Salem witnessed the horrendous acts done by Kolgrim's dragon cult and Father Eirik. 

      _And in Howe's dungeons, when the arl confessed to the crimes committed against the Couslands. No. They were more than crims. They were **atrocities.**_

     "They are only elves?" she asked, her jaw tight, her lips quivering. "They are  _only_  elves? You misbegotten  _bastard sons of **dogs!** "_ the crowd drew back, shocked at such ferocity from a woman who, thus far, had been the picture of gentility. 

     "How  _dare_ you!?" she accused, rising to her full height, ignoring her injuries. "How dare  _any of you!_ You and your wives, your husbands, your friends, your families, your brothers and sisters, fought to free Ferelden from the iron grip of Orlais! You sermonized about liberty, pontificated about rights that were,  _under no circumstances,_ to  _ **ever**_ be denied! How can you stand before me and claim that others have no right to  _those same freedoms!?_ You think your blood any better than theirs!? You think your lives worth more? Are your damned souls more precious in the Maker's eyes!?"

     "Warden Cousland, calm yourself before the Landsmeet." another noble, wearing the silver circlet of a Ferelden teyrn, ordered. 

     "I will  _not!_ " she thundered, her words radiating heat. 

      _Loghain's wrath was bombastic pride,_ I thought, seeing the pulse point in Salem's throat leap and flutter beneath her skin.  _This is righteous anger; justice in full fury. It is power, and good, and beauty, and...I. Am. In. Love._

     Salem drew a shuddering breath, but not in attempt to calm herself. It was to fuel the flame that had been struck inside her spirit. My warden's heart burned in the face of injustice, like a bright, glimmering beacon of hope and truth. I prayed that Ferelden's nobles were not too immersd in their own self-importance to disregard such passion, such unabashed emotion. 

     "I will  _ **not**_ keep my peace." she hissed, but it echoed across the room and left a bitter chill in my bones. 

     Salem took a step forward and stumbled, almost going to her knees. My heart yearned to go to her, to support her faltering steps and wounded body, but I could not. I was helpless. Any whispered words from me to her, should they catch another's ears, would surely damn me. I would be known for what I was, an Orlesian...proof that Salem conspired with Ferelden's oldest enemy...even though such a thing was not the case. 

     "This is a grievous crime tha thas been committed!" Salem shouted. "By this wreck of a man who would have you believe that he stood for what is  _right!_ " she flung an accusatory hand at Loghain. "This  _man_ who quite the field and left his daughter's husband,  _your king,_ to be  _ **slaughtered!**_ And now, he would send others,  _ **no less your own people, no less Fereldens,**_ into chains that we  _ **have no right**_ to place them in!"

     Salem rested, her shoulders sagging, her breathing ragged. Her hair was drenched with sweat, the same sweat that beaded on her brow and trickled down her face. Blood showed on the palms of her hands from where she had clenched her fists and the nails had bitten deep. 

     "You have failed." she sighed, looking at the nobles who had entered a war with naught but a vision of a free land, independent rule...a better life. "You have failed this land that you created. You truly are no better than Orlais. If we do not defend the weak...how are we better than those to whom  _we_ were the weak?"

     "Heresy!" Loghain shrieked. 

     Salem staggered to her full height. " _ **Truth!** " _Salem cried, her entire body shuddering with exertion. "This deep,  _heretical **truth!**_ We have  _failed_ to be better than those who enslaved us! Maker damn you all, I am  _done! Done with the **mockery,** the  **pretension,** the  **hypocrisy!** "_ 

     Salem inhaled, preparing to continue, when Loghain backhanded her with a gauntleted fist. The blow threw Salem off balance and she crumpled to the floor, landing on her side. She rolled onto her back and groaned, her hand moving to her ribs. I bit my lip and moved my feet, once more feeling Wynne's restraining arm about my waist. 

     "It is my turn to speak, little noble, little warden." Loghain taunted as Salem rolled onto her knees, gasping, struggling to stand once more. "She cries in what some would consider justifiable fury." he gestured to Salem's shuddering body. Blood trickled from my warden's lip. Loghain's blow had split it again. "She screams of nobility and sacrifice, sermonizing, as she said. But this woman, this child of House Cousland,  _broke_ the noble's code. She who decried me for doing so, has  _done the same!_ Stand before me, Salem Cousland, and bear witness that you did  _not_ torture and kill Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine!"

      _Maker, no!_ I screamed inside my thoughts.  _No no no no no no no! This is all wrong; this is...what Salem did was **justified.** Surely none could fault her for giving her family rest. Surely none...but it is the same crime of which Loghain stands accused. Old gods and new, Maker above, any who would listen...please, please, please...do not let this become worse. _

     "Stand, Warden Cousland." the silver-circlet teyrn ordered. "Stand and face the accusations, as is required by the Landsmeet. Did you break the noble's code?"

     Salem pushed herself up, falling back to the floor three times before she at last regained her feet. She stood tall, refusing to wipe the blood from her mouth. Her eyes burned, screaming of murder and ruin, of all mankind's eventual fate. I cringed back from the death in her eyes. 

     "I...told you all..." Salem gasped. "That I harmed...no _innocent_ noble. I  _killed_ Rendon Howe." she said, a clear, crisp admission. "I murdered the bastard who slew my family...as Loghain ordered him to do."

     "Cousland betrayed Ferelden!" Loghain bellowed. "Your brother's Antivan whore was proof enough of that, but more  _can be found!"_

     "Take back your words." Salem threatened, nearly lost to her rage. "Or, by all that is holy, I will  _sever your tongue. As. I. Did. Howe's."_

     " **Enough!** " Arl Eamon broke his silence at last. "This has descended into a sick, mudslinging mockery of a Landsmeet. Nobles, render your judgment. Keep in your minds that there is no proof but Loghain's word of Cousland's supposed treachery. Cast your vote with Loghain and doom this country, or stand with the son of Maric, brother of Cailan, and those who fight with him against the Blight."

      _Salem,_ my heart reached out to her as she slumped against a pillar, clinging to it in order to remain on her feet.  _The evidence you presented was enough to dethrone any king, but you cannot topple racism and nobles ingrained with their ridiculously unchangeable, yet ever un-adhered to morals, in the span of a candlemark. Stand strong, my love. You have done well._

     "Have the nobles made their decisions?" Eamon asked. 

     All assembled nodded. 

     "And all are aware that neighter Highever or Amaranthine are represented?" he asked once more. 

     Again, the nods. 

     "Then choose your side." Eamon ordered. "By order of the Landsmeet, cast your votes. I, for one, and Redcliffe with me, stand with the wardens."

     Salem's empty, defeated eyes watched as the rest of the nobles called out their choice. A heartening number stated their support for Alistair and Salem, but I could not keep track. Instead, I alternated my gaze between Salem and the young servant who tallied the votes. 

     The hall fell silent and the servant handed his parchment to Eamon. The arl cleared his throat and exhaled. 

     "The Landsmeet has spoken." he announced, calm. "Twelve territories support Alistair and the wardens. Thirteen give their support to Queen Anora and queen's Regent, Loghain Mac Tir."

      _We...failed._ I realized, watching Salem's countenance fall as the last thread of strength she had managed to cling to faded. Alistairs eyes shone with misgivings and...regret? Had he truly wished to become Ferelden's king? Had he embraced it so entirely? 

     "Ferelden has made her choice, warden." Loghain sneered, black eyes snapping. "Impassioned speeches aside. A shame, in truth. Had this been a tie, had one noble been undecided, law dictates that the tie would be settled through trial by combat. Best that you lose in this manner...there is less chance of your demise. Unless, of course, I proclaim you a traitor to the throne and sentence you to  _death!_ "

     I felt faint as fear washed over me. I looked to my warden, too weak to defend herself, too weak to fight the death Loghain promised her. 

      _" **No!** " _a new voice rang, and Salem's head snapped towards the door. 

      I followed her line of sight, staring at the open doors, the man hanging against them. He had russet hair and a close-cropped beard, a kind face and...familiar eyes. He pulled himself from the support of the doors and wlaked, slow, exhausted, to the middle of the room. There was something in his bearing that I recognized, something that I knew in a deep part of my soul...

     The man glared at Loghain with absolute hatred. "I am Teyrn Fergus Cousland." he stated, and my eyes widened. "I speak for Highever. We stand...with the wardens."


	45. The Dead that Return

**Salem**

      _Fergus?_

     I stared at my brother, thinking that perhaps I had fallen unconscious and lay now in a dream state. But he seemed real, solid, and so very much alive that I clung to the sight, whether dream or reality, because I needed its sweetness. 

      _Can it be? Maker, please, let this be real._

    The man who claimed he was my brother turned to me and I flinched. I recognized his eyes, the same shade as my mother's. 

      _It **is** you._ 

     A mutual shock registered in his face and he took a step backward, his skin blanched, as though he gazed upon a ghost. 

     "Salem." his lips formed my name, but no sound emerged. 

      _How did...is this...it should not even be possible. I thought...I thought you were dead. Oh, Maker. How much does he know of what has happened to our family...to me?_ _  
_

"Stop staring in silence!" Loghain shouted, jerking the crowd from its shock. "Nobles assembled, before the vote was cast, we knew Highever would not be represented! You cannot allow his voice to be heard, if his claims of heritage are even true!"

      _Not this dead horse once more, Loghain._

     I stepped forward, allowing hope to return a measure of my ever-waning strength. 

     "I have already proven my parentage." I said. "And I swear on the soul of my father that this man is indeed my brother, Fergus Cousland, rightful Teyrn of Highever."

     "Preposterous tricks!" Loghain fumed. "Surely you recognize the warden's last, albient  _valiant,_ attempt to bring this Landsmeet to their side!"

     "Keep your peace, Loghain." Eamon spoke for the rest of the nobles. "Highever remained unrepresented due to the fact that Salem, your accuser, could not cast her vote, as is written in our laws. However, as the eldest child of Bryce and Eleanor, Fergus inherits his father's lands and titles both. His vote cannot be disputed."

     "I declared all of Cousland to be traitors to this country!" Loghain stormed. "Their nobility has been stripped from them! Their voices have been  _silenced!_ The Landsmeet accepted me for their regent and king! Tell me then why these orders to do not stand!?"

     "Still your viper's tongue." Fergus ordered, using a sterner voice than I had ever heard from him before. "Your regency was self-declared, and this Landsmeet was called without the knowledge of many who would  _not_ stand beside you. Trickery and foul play, Loghain, those are  _your_ weapons. I rode through the night to see you unseated from your ill-gotten throne, and the Landsmeet will  _not_ deny me my rights."

     I glanced at Leliana, watching her eyes flit from my brother to myself in awe.  _There are two of us,_ I smiled at her, brief,  _two insane, Ferelden nobles who cling to deeply instilled, archaic values. Truth. Justice. Honor._

     "Teyrn Cousland's vote makes this a draw." Eamon gestured for Fergus to join him, and my brother obeyed. "As Teyrn Loghain stated, the draw may be decided by combat between the two challengers. Is this amenable to you, Teyrn Loghain?"

     "It is." the man glared at me, fierce, triumphant. "My sword yearns for the blood of traitors."

     "And to you, Warden Cousland."

      _Trial by combat. Maker...I am fighting to keep my eyes open, to draw breath. I can hardly stand. Loghain has aged, but wisdom can replace strength. Damn me...damn my cursed blood._

     "Far be it from me to deny myself a chance for victory." I spoke, and Loghain sneered. 

     "Prepare yourself, Cousland. I will not have it said that I fought an unjust duel." he turned to the assembled bannorn. "This country shall see the might of its defenders! Yes! Let it be blades that decide this!" he glared at me. "The  _strongest_ shall prevail."

     Leliana and Alistair moved through the crowd, carrying the plates of my armor. I walked to them and allowed them to begin strapping me into the heavy plate. The extra weight made me break out into a sweat, I felt as though I would drown inside the metal and leather. 

     "Salem," Leliana whispered, for my ears alone, "are you certain this is wise? Loghain is highly skilled. The chevaliers of Orlais...those who survived...still speak of him with trembling."

     "I will not lose." I swore, looking into the deep blue eyes that held my soul. 

     "Salem, consider her words." Alistiar pleaded, latching the straps of leather about my shoulders. "You are exhausted; those of us who know you are amazed that you can still stand. Engaging in single combat...with  _Loghain..._ "

     "I will not lose." I said again, refusing to harbor any other thoughts. 

      _I know that the two of you speak from concern, but I cannot afford to doubt myself. I have slain ogres and dragons. This is **one** man. I do not know if I will emerge the victor, but I will  **not** lose. _

     Leliana's lips trembled and I could see the fear and anguish in her eyes. She knew my weaknesses. She knew how very, very fragile I was in this moment. She squeezed my hand as though trying to feed me her strength, and I loved her for it. I smiled, just for her, attempting to reassure her, to tell her that I would come back from this, as I had every trial thus far. 

     "Will you even be able to lift your swords?" she asked, her voice a thread hovering above a flame. 

     "Yes." I said, for there could be no other answer. I could harbor no doubt.

      _Maker, I thank you._ I prayed.  _I thank you for bringing my brother back to me in this, our darkest hour. Give Alistair the strength to continue, should I...no. This is but another test. Grant **me** the strength to see it through. _

     Alistair and Leliana withdrew, the warden laying his arm about the bard to comfort her. I had stared down death in many situations, but never in one this intimate, not bearing this personal a grudge, not with so much at stake. 

      _The burdens that have dressed my shoulders since the Joining have never been so heavy as they are now. And I have never been so unfit to carry them._

     "The combatants shall ready their weapons." Eamon addressed us. 

     Loghain's attendant presented the teyrn with his sword and shield. The blade caught the light and I flinched. That sword had sheared Orlesian steel; made the land run red with blood...taken more lives than I could countenance. 

     Oghren handed me my blades, and I stared at the battered, cheap metal. They were no match for Loghain's sword or shield. I had found no suitable blades to replace the ones I lost to the dragon's blood in the Frostbacks. The swords I had stolen from Kolgrim's cultists had served me well, but face to face with an obviously superior weapon... _I am outmatched in every arena._

     "Are those the toys of children, warden?" Loghain asked, taunting me. "Surely you do not intend to use...no matter. Let us end this."

      _I will not lose._

     "As you say."

     "The victor of this battle breaks the tie of the Landsmeet." Eamon announced. "Fight well and with honor. Let the battle begin."

     Loghain and I began to circle each other, a dance of predator and prey, though as yet neither role had been assigned. I shook my head, trying to clear my vision. The muscles in my back protested the weight of the armor, I could feel the scabs cracking as the heavy plate shifted. My knees tremored, threatening to bring me to the ground before a single blow had been struck. 

     Loghain attacked with an overhead strike. I caught the flat of his sword against my blades, but instead of locking our weapons and making a contest of strength, he pushed forward, battering me with his shield. The spike at the shield's center dented the armor I wore and knocked the breath from my lungs. 

     I backpedaled, my vision blurring, my chest heaving as I fought to breath. Relentless, Loghain pressed his attack with a sweeing slash. I deflected his blade and brought my other sword up in an attack. It jarred against Loghain's shield and my arm went numb. 

     The teyrn swept his blade back and expertly guided it into the unmended tear that Howe's sword had left in my armor. I hissed, but refrained crom crying out as I felt Loghain's blood slice cleanly through the still healing wound. I gasped as I felt the keen, razor edge grate against the bone. Loghain pulled the blade free and it was with sick horror that I watched my blood slide down the steel. 

      _Maker's...blood-soaked...breath._

     My sword fell from limp fingers as my dominant arm was once again rendered useless. I had no shield to protect me, and I could feel blood sluicing down my arm, staining my skin and shift.

     "First blood to Loghain." Eamon's emotionless voice. 

     "It will be last as well." Loghain smiled, and I knew then that he considered me his prey, his lesser. 

     I tightened my grip on my offhand blade, trying not to feel sick as I thought of how much blood I was losing. Loghain struck again and I blocked the attack, wincing as sparks flew and my sword, my last defense, sheared off midway through. Loghain's shield based against me again, its spike punching through my armor, its tip piercing my skin. He wrenched the shield out when he heard my grunt of pain. It dropped to the ground as I feeled from another crippling wave of pain and weakness.

     The world went white as Loghain struck me across the face with the flat of his sword. I fell to the floor, holding my cheek, my entire body trembling. I fought to keep the sheared sword in my hand, clinging to it as if for my life.  

      _He could have sliced my head off with that blow...this is a play, and in it, he is the hero, and I am his villain. He is toying with me. Drawing it out. On purpose._

     I groaned as I got to my feet, struggling for balance as the world tilted and spun. Through wavering eyesight, I saw Loghain reach into his belt pouch. His hand emerged in a fist and before I could move he opened his fingers and blew a black powder into my eyes. 

     I backpedaled, my eyes stinging with pain and tears as my vision went completely dark. Panic began to set in as I turned my head and saw  _nothing._

      _Not this,_ I begged, knowing it was futile,  _not this again, **please.**_

     "You are blind, warden!" Loghain crowed with triumph. "Cede the match! Ferelden knows her true defender now!"

      _Calm,_ I told myself, tuning my ears, listening to the clank of Loghain's armor as he strutted around me, confident in his victory, certain that I would yield.  _Quiet. Attune yourself to the natural world, then find that which does not belong. Focus on that which you desire above all._ A smile crossed my lips, obliterating sorrow, eliminating pain.  _Leliana. I will know **one** day of peace with you, even if I must fight through all of hell to achieve it. _

     "As Regent of Ferelden," Loghain proclaimed, "I declare Salem Cousland and all those of her bloodline and house, and those who follow her now, as traitors! As such, the penalty is  _death!"_

      _Movement...he is lifting his blade...aiming for my neck._

I ducked under the blow when it came, spinning against the ground, bringing the jagged edge of my sheared sword under his chestplate, slicing across the soft skin of his stomach.

     Loghain gurgled in surprise and I smiled as the clank and thud of his armor told me that he had fallen to his knees. I rose, unsteady, my hand trembling, my body begging for respite. I listened as Loghain's sword fell to the ground with a clatter of metal and defeat. My vision began to clear, becoming a fogged haze. I stared down at the would-be king of Ferelden. Loghain's hands were pressed to his stomach, attempting to keep his intestines inside his body. 

     "I...did not..." I gasped, "...cede the match. You all...stand as witness."

     I grasped Loghain's raven hair and drew his head back, keeping him still, lest he think the battle unfinished. 

     "Is the Landsmeet agreed?" Eamon looked to all the nobles. 

     I could not read their expressions, could not focus beyond my next difficult breath. All that registered in my mind was the man I had defeated, the pain of my body, and the weary exultation of my soul. 

      _I didn't lose. By the Maker's twisted grace, I did not lose._

     "Victory to the house of Alistair Theirin and the Grey Wardens." Eamon said. "Salem, as victor in the trial by combat, Loghain's final fate rests in your hands. What shall it be?"


	46. The Gentleness of True Justice

**Leliana**

    My heart stuck in my throat as I watched Salem consider Eamon's last decree. Loghain's life hung in her hands...and it looked as though Salem's own life hung by a tenuous thread. Thick streams of blood flowed down her damaged armor; her eyelids fluttered, and she looked paler and more ill than she had after I had pulled her out of Howe's dungeon. 

      _Only now, I have no way of knowing the extent of her injuries._ I worried my lip with my teeth.  _Maker...I do not even know how she is still on her feet. How she even managed to lift her swords._

     I could see remnants of Loghain's black powder on her face, marred with the streaks of her tears. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had used that particular weapon before, though I possessed no love of it, as some bards did. I hated the thought of Salem being subjected to it, as I knew that she would  _never_ countenance stooping to such a level. 

      _Not only does the blinding powder lack honor, Salem has also lost her sight. She could never fathom visiting that terror on another, even though it is only temporary._

     "Render your judgment, Warden Cousland." Eamon admonished. 

     The fallen noble in Salem's grasp did not move. Loghain refused to flinch, even though blood dripped from the tear across his abdomen. His features remained a study in iron restrained, and his eyes shone with pride, even though that pride, that confidence, and his utter lack of knowledge about his opponent and her determination had brought him to his knees. By the rule of logic, Loghain should have been victor. 

      _He is the one with more training. He is the one with superior weapons. He was so much stronger than she...and yet she is the victor. Maker, thank you for watching over her. Please, let her strength last. Let her see this through to its end._

     "Alistair." Salem called him forth and he joined her, standing in front of Loghain, unable to keep the shock at Salem's victory from showing on his face. "Our swords are as one." Salem spoke to her king, and I heard the most subtle of tremors in her voice. "What do you propose?"

     "Riordan possesses the secrets of the Joining." Alistair spoke, his voice remarkably clear and precise. "You could conscript Loghain, Salem. Force him to put his blade to our cause. To fight the Blight he has denied for so long."

     Loghain's lip curled in a sneer, a fleeting expression that led me to believe that, if Loghain were to participate in the Joining, he would survive it through sheer stubbornness and end Salem and Alistair's lives. 

     "No." Salem argued, jerking back on Loghain's hair. The man's lips twitched, but nothing more. "Our profession is a noble one. I will  _not_ have the archdemon spitting fire before me while anticipating a sword in my back."

     "Then let the penalty be death." Alistair said, and the crowd erupted into a flurry of arguments from the nobles. 

      _Before Fergus entered,_ I thought, seeking the red-haired man out in the crowd,  _Loghain was the victor. Alistair will **never** know security upon the throne...but that is the lot of kings. _

     "Nobles of the bannorn!" Eamon roared over the tumult. "Still your voices! The challenge has been  _decided_. Our word has been  _given._ Salem Cousland's word is final! If death is her decision, then death shall it be."

     "You..." Loghain gasped, blood showing on his teeth. "...do not...have it within yourself...to kill me."

     "I killed Rendon Howe." Salem stated, calm, so calm...barely conscious. 

     Even so, my blood shivered as I recalled that moment in the dungeons when all the humanity had fled her eyes and her heart had gone blacker than midnight. But she had come back; had changed herself, even in this short time. I knew she would not give into her rage and end her grudge against Loghain with a vengeful sword. She would let the law guide her, and not attempt to become the law herself. That was the depth of her wisdom. 

     "It..." Loghain prophesied, and I wondered if he had yet another defense concealed. "...will be different...with me."

     "Loghain Mac Tir," Salem announced, her voice hoarse with weariness and spent with pain, "for the crime of high treason against the throne of Ferelden, for selling her citizens into unlawful slavery, for conspiring against nobles of your own country, and abandoning your sworn duty to protect and defend your king, I sentence you to..."

     "Salem,  _no!"_ Anora rushed to my warden, falling on her knees before her bleeding father, gazing at Salem with despondent eyes. "Please," she begged, "for the friendship we once shared, for the blood and title that bind us to Ferelden,  _please...please **spare** my father._  I know I ask too much, for you to exercise mercy when you were shown none, but I will give you  _anything._ " 

     "Anora." Loghain chastised, clearly displeased with his daughter's supplication. "You dishonor me."

     The queen's desperate pleas fell silent, but she looked at Salem with such fear, such sorrow, that my heart nearly broke for her. 

     "Get on your feet, Anora." Salem ordered. The queen rose, shaky. "For your crimes, Loghain, I strip you of your land and title. You and your family are forever banished from our shores. Make your life in another land, where you are bound to its laws, so that you may forever regret your treason agains the land that loved you. Mage," she gestured to the young man that had healed her, "you may attend to the prisoner."

      _It is mercy._ I smiled.  _Salem grants him mercy, even though he was the sole engineer of her grief. Maker, had Andraste not been the woman destined to become your Bride, I think you might have found a suitable one in this woman. Fortunately, the histories have been written...in my favor._ _  
_

Loghain chuckled as the mage once under his command healed him at Salem's behest. The healer finished his work and stepped aside and Salem jerked back on Loghain's hair as the noble made to stand. She kept him on his knees, though I did not know how she still possessed the strength to defy him, even weakened as he was.

     "Warden Cousland!" another voice echoed through the room, cold and viciou. "It is with respect that I question your judgment. Do not let that man go free!"

     "Cauthrien!" Loghain shrieked. "You treacherous bitch! Guards! Silence her!"

     Salem rested her shattered blade against Loghain's throat. Only those of us who had traveled this anguish-laden road with her saw the faint quavering of her hand. 

      _Let this be finished soon,_ I prayed, fervent.  _For her sake._

     "Ser Cauthrien," Salem spoke, slow, measuring her words, "I grant your...untraditional...petition to contest my judgment. Present your reasons before the Landsmeet."

     The knight who had torn my lover's body apart strode forward and I clenched my hands in anger. Rage made my heartbeat quiver.  _I am not as forgiving as Salem. Were I in her position, with her current power, I would see that bitch as equally punished as Loghain._

     "I served Teyrn Loghain." Cauthrien announced. "And, I have discovered, committed treason under his orders. I am first a Knight of Ferelden, and I wish to clear my name."

     "Someone," Loghain screamed, "bind that whore's tongue!"

     "As one should have bound yours?" Cauthrien asked him, incensed. "I  _believed_ in you, Tey...Loghain. I _trusted_ you. Your crimes are too grave; the warden's punishment too kind. Salem Cousland...I have committed atrocities against you in the name of Loghain's lies. I wish...I wish to prove my loyalty, to your cause and to my new king. You know who I am, you know the story of my life, and you know that all I have to my name...is my honor. Loghain has sullied it, and I will not sacrifice it for him."

     The knight drew her massive blade and planted the tip on the stone floor. She gripped its hilt as she knelt before Alistair. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, addressing him. 

     "I, Cauthrien, Knight of Ferelden, do sweary fealty and allegiance to Alistair of House Theirin; to protect and defend him for so long as he draws breath. My soul to the Maker's care. My heart to the King's laws and edicts. My body to the Land."

     Alistair glanced at Sale, wide-eyed, uncertain of what to do. He had much to learn, and the acceptance of such a vow was not in his knowledge. 

     My warden, ever-graceful, intervened. "In the name of the king, Ser Cauthrien, rise in the Maker's grace."

     "My liege," Cauthrien spoke as she got to her feet, "I beg your indulgence yet further. Please, grant me one boon. Let me remove this traitorous  _wretch_ , and heal Ferelden of his scourge. Let me regain my honor."

     "Salem?" Alistair asked, turning to her for direction. 

     "You are the king," she smiled, wan. "Only the king can overturn a contested decision in the Landsmeet. Your word is law."

     Alistair then looked to me, asking me what I wished to do...what I wished to do for Salem's sake. The woman herself would offer him nothing, but I would not be so desperately good. I would protect Salem when she would not protect herself. 

      _He hurt her._ I glared at Loghain.  _He stole everything from her and sent her on the path that has led her through hell. His orders saw her tortured, her body broken. His own sword pierced her skin and drew her blood...thrust back upon her the horror of her blindness. No. A man such as this does not deserve to live. I am **not** Salem. I am not a woman of mercy._ 

     I looked to Cauthrien, then to Alistair, nodding at the king, telling him silently that I desired him to follow his instinct. 

     "Ser Cauthrien," Alistair drew a deep breath, "your request is granted. The life of Loghain Mac Tir is yours to take. Regain your honor in defense of Ferelden."

     Salem withdrew her hand from Loghain's shoulder and relinquished his hair. She stepped backwards and stumbled. Alistair moved behind her and arrested what would have been a fall. All eyes were riveted to Loghain and Cauthrien; none noticed that Salem had nearly fallen. None had noticed save Wynne. Save me. Save those who loved her above all. 

     "Cauthrien." Loghain growled a warning. 

     The knight readied her blade and glared at the man who had deceived her; who had torn her honor away. 

     "No more will you destroy the honor of knights. No more will you be a plague on this country. May you not know the Maker's embrace." she whispered. 

     The blade lifted and many of the nobles, men and woman alike, turned their heads. With a quick, decisive strike, Cauthrien ended Loghain's life. Loghain's severed head fell to the floor with a sickening squelch. Blood fountained out from his neck, spattering across Salem's face and armor. Anora's shriek of grief seemed to split the stone of the floors...all else was silent. 

      _There is..._ I glanced at Salem and felt as though I had been strangled... _grief in her eyes. And empathy._ Realization struck me.  _Salem meant to banish him **from the beginning.** Even before Anora begged her for Loghain's life. For the sake of an old, now dead friendship, a lingering memory, she could forego her own desires, her own resolution. And now, even now, she grieves with Anora...for the loss of a father, who, in the case of Loghain, was once...a good man. _

     "Judgment has been rendered." Eamon announced, all energy gone from his voice. "The Landsmeet is free to dissemble. Return to your homes, ready your armies, and prepare for battle. Maker's mercy upon us all...there is still a Blight."

     The nobles filed out of th eroom, an elderly arlessa escorting a weeping Anora from the hall. The rest of us stood there, uncertain, for once, of what to do. We were nearing the end of our desperate journey...and the future before us was tenuous at best. 

      _However,_ I walked to Salem, skirting the spreading pool of Loghain's blood,  _I am certain of **one** thing. At the end of it all, I will be with  **you** my warden. That is all the future I desire._ 


	47. The Pain of Endings

**Salem**

    I watched the Landsmeet depart, my heart heavy with grief. This is not how I had wanted it. But it had ended. I could do nothing to alter it. We had been victorious, but only through blades crossed. The shedding of blood had granted power to the right hands, not the system of judgment and justice. This triumph rang hollow. Loghain was dead...decapitated by his most faithful knight. 

     I stared down at the headless body of my enemy.  _There lies a great man. By all accounts, he was a hero. And he was slaughtered. Here. A man who believed in freedom, who brought his people and his name up from ignominy...dead. Lost. How quickly the mighty falter when power is placed in their hands,_ I mused, unable to tear my eyes from the corpse on the ground.  _How long will it be until I, too, am overwhelmed by the authority I wield? How long, Loghain, until I meet with your same fate?_

     Suddenly, warm, gentle hands were touching me, turning my face from what I feared would be my future. I was young...and I had just put a man on the throne. I had become the most influential, powerful woman in Ferelden. When would I be the one standing in front of an army, deciding whose lives were more important? 

     "Salem," Leliana's lyric tones brought me fully out of reverie. "Salem, it is finished. They are gone now. It is over, at last."

      _For how long, Leliana? How long will it be until I am spilling blood as penance, not in sacrifice._

"Leli." I pulled my gauntlets off and touched her skin, needing to feel something other than the cold, dead weight that had settled in my chest. Her warmth spilled into me and I tried to smile. It turned into a grimace. "Do not...do not let me...become that. I don't...Maker, I...I can't..."

     "Lover, be still." Leliana whispered. "You're bleeding badly; I can see the pain in your eyes. Let me help you, and we will return to the estate, and rest."

     The woman I loved knelt before me and began undoing the straps of my greaves. I stood there, wooden, almost in shock, letting Leliana remove the physical weight from my body. There were heavier weights resting on my shoulders. Weights that could not be lifted. 

      _Leliana...you said we will return to Eamon's estate. When will it be home?_ I wondered, eyes drawn to the spreading pool of blood on the floor.  _When will that be our destination, dear heart? Will I ever be able to shed these burdens and live, simply live, with you?_ _  
_

I shuddered as Leliana and Alistair removed the plates on my chest and back. I closed my eyes, listening to the clank of metal being set aside, and the hushed, worried whispers. I wondered if I would forever be the cause of worry and concern...if I could bring nothing but anxiety into this world. I dropped my broken sword, listening to the chilling ring of blade against stone.

     My right arm burned as Leliana's deft fingers loosed the straps that held my damaged pauldron in place. I clenched my teeth as she pulled the piece of armor away. 

     "Maker's blood." Leliana's voice sounded choked as she surveyed the damage done. 

     A despondent weariness settled over me as I stared at the blood that dripped off of my fingertips like a macabre rain. 

      _I tire of this,_ I realized.  _No sooner is one wound closed than another is opened. How did it come to pass that this is my fate? When did I apply the blinders that have let me forget that life can be normal? How long have I pushed myself beyond all limits...uncaring?_

     The muscles in my back spasmed and my entire body jolted. Leliana tensed, preparing to... _catch me if I fall. I loe you, heart's dearest, from here into...whatever is left for me. I no longer believe I will be allowed into the Maker's eternity._

     "Salem." my brother's ghost spoke to me, a haunting spectre of my failures. 

      _No...not a phantom. Reality. Against all odds...he is alive._

     "Sister?" he asked, tracing the brilliant-hued scar across my cheek. "Is it...is it truly you?"

      _Who else would it be? Am I so changed that I am unrecognizable, even to my own flesh and blood?_

     "Yes." I smiled, for his sake. 

     I had no mirth left in me. Joy had given way to exhaustion. I stood only because I did not have the strength to fall apart. I felt lost, adrift, and without an anchor. 

     "Andraste's ass, Salem." Fergus' eyes shone with words he did not know how to speak. "You look like death."

      _I am death._

     "You are too kind, brother."

     I trembled without my armor there to anchor me. I felt as though a breath would strike me down. Never before had I been so weak and weary. I knew that I should have embraced Fergus, should have been overjoyed by the fact that he was alive. But I could not move. I hurt too badly. 

     Fergus reached out to steady me, to verify that I did exist. That he, too, had not lost everything. 

      _Except his mother and his father. His wife and his child. All that is left is the sister who could not protect those he loved, who let our home be taken, who allowed our mother to condemn herself to death. This is the source of your joy, brother? You should hate me...as I hate myself._

     I reached up and took his hand in mine, squeezing it. 

      _Forgive me, brother. Please, forgive me._

     "I heard..." tears pooled in his eyes, "...I heard there was a warden conscripted in Highever. A warden that survived Ostagar and Ishal. I did not allow myself to hope...that it was you." 

"Stranger things have occurred." Eamon rested his hand on my brother's shoulder. "You are welcome to return to my estate with me. There is still much to be done, and your aid will be invaluable. Salem will follow later."

     "But..." my brother glanced from Eamon's face to mine, torn between his heart and his duty, a torment I knew all too well.

     "Go." I urged him, not wishing him to see me in this state. "All will be well. I am all right."

      _This tragedy is not for you. You have suffered enough and I...well...I accepted this for my fate. Leave me._

     "I will see you soon, sister." Fergus departed with Eamon, casting a sorrowful look back at me over his shoulder. 

     I waited until the door closed; felt Leliana's arms wrap around me as Alistair and Sten dragged Loghain's headless body out of the great hall. 

      _And how will his body be honored?_ My thoughts tortured me.  _A traitor's nameless grave, or a royal's pyre? Which is deserved...should we be honest before our people, break their spirits yet further, or spin the tragic tale of a man who gave his life for his country...I tried, Anora. I tried to spare you the grief I have known. I failed...again._

     "Salem, let go." Leliana whispered, devastatingly tender. "I've got you. Please let go."

     I surrendered at last, letting my legs give out from under me. I collapsed in Leliana's arms. She wrapped her arms around my waist, cradling my neck against her shoulder. She eased me to the ground and Wynne strode forward, Morrigan at her heels. 

     Wynne's keen eyes examined the wound to my torso, her brows creased and lips thinned. 

     "Praise the Maker for strong Ferelden steel." she smiled, kind. "A hair's breadth deeper and your stomach would have been pierced."

     I managed a half-laugh and Leliana's hand stroked through my hair, trying to comfort me. 

     "I am so weary of this." I whispered, too numb; unable to feel the pain. 

     Wynne ignored my words, turning her attention to my arm. "This is where the greatest damage was done." the healer frowned. "Salem, if I do not heal you now, you could lose the use of your dominant arm."

     The room fell silent and my heart sank.  _Although I do not know why. I should expect this. I should have...become accustomed, by now._

     "Wynne." Leliana's voice shook, and it hurt because I could do nothing. "Wynne, are you certain?"

     "I wish I were not." Wynne looked to my bard with sorrow. "But the cut was too deep. Loghain's blade even scored the bone. If I do not use magic, her arm will heal, but improperly. Too many nerves have been severed; muscles sheared. And her...her back is so very, very damaged. It is...grim."

     I lay there, powerless to move, sickened by the state of the land I had given so much for. 

     "Then do it." I told her, uncaring. 

     "Salem," Wynne began in her cautionary tone, of which I had heard enough. 

     " _Fucking_ heal me." I hissed. 

      _I do not wish to be in this world any longer. Even my soul is worn. Please...Maker...ancient gods...are there any of you who will grant me rest?_

     I closed my eyes, attempting to silence the chaos in my mind. I focused on the sole good thing in my world; Leliana's arms around me, her warmth, her care, her willingness to carry me and my burdens. 

      _In truth, she is more responsible for Ferelden's salvation than I. What...what have I ever done to deserve such a gift?_

     "Leliana," I heard Wynne's voice, coming to me from across a distance, "the young mage that healed her is a ham-handed fool. There is still another's magic coursing through Salem's body. When his spell interacts with mine, the power will intensify. Salem will be in paralyzing, agonizing pain. If you do not wish to see this, I am certain she will understand."

     "No." my bard answered, fierce. "I failed her once in Howe's dungeons. I will not abandon her now."

     "Very well." Wynne rested a hand on my shoulder. "Salem, prepare yourself."

      _Why? It has ceased to matter. I will never be without pain._

     Wynne readied her magic and placed her hands over my injuries. All of my muscles went rigid; one coherent thought  _shrieking_ through my mind. I raised my voice to the heavens, to those who loved me, but my words were gone. All I could offer was a voiceless scream...and the silent cries in my thoughts. 

      _I.     Am.     In.     Hell._


	48. Let No Hope be Extinguished

**Leliana**

   Something stirred next to me, and I jerked out of an uneasy rest. I wiped grit from my eyes and brushed my hair out of my face, cursing in Orlesian. The nightmares had been less torturous, hovering on the edge of my consciousness, simply waiting to devour instead of gnawing at me with jagged teeth. 

     The uneasy rocking back and forth of Eamon's caravan did not make for a satisfactory rest. I felt as though I had not slept in years as the weight of my memories settled back onto my shoulders. I could swear my head still ached from Alistair and Fergus' shouting match. The future king had carried my lover's battered, unconscious body back to Eamon's estate, and her brother had nearly lost his mind. 

     Eamon had been forced to intervene in the argument that nearly came to blows. Harsh words had been exchanged. Fergus had accused Alistair of endangering Salem's life, and the warden had decried the young teyrn of not doing all that he could to see if his sister still lived. Meanwhile, all I could do was sit beside Salem's unconscious body, my hand closed around her risk, my sanity hinging on the pulsing of her blood beneath my fingers. 

     At last, my vision cleared and I looked at the light of my heart who lay in the wagon on a hastily made pallet of blankets and pillows. She jerked in her unconsciousness and her eyelids twitched. All weariness fled me and I sat up straighter, shoving aside the provision-filled basket that lay between me and her. 

     "Salem?" I asked, taking her hand in mine and weaving our fingers together. "Salem, can you hear me?"

      _Please, my love,_ ** _please_** _wake up. It has been two days...Maker's blood...your screams are still echoing in my ears. I need to hear your voice, Salem. I need your words to drown those memories. Open your beautiful eyes, my warden._

     "Salem, I am here. I am with you. You are all right. All is well. You can come back, now." comforting nonsense spilled from my lips. 

     Had anyone borne witness, they would have seen me naked and vulnerable, begging for something so terrifyingly simple. That she open her eyes. That she look at me and know me and understand that she was loved...loved as no other loved her. Their blood did not burn when the warden cried out in pain. Their hearts did not ache when her eyes closed, when her body went slack. They did not lose sleep while waiting for her to awaken. 

      _They need you only as a leader, as a warden, but I need you. You alone._

     Her eyelids fluttered again and my heart caught in my throat. I squeezed her hand tight in my own, praying, begging any god that would hear me to give her mercy. She had endured so much. Torture, the shattering of a childhood friendship, a battle for the crown. She had won, and Ferelden would be better for it...but at what personal cost? 

     I watched her, afraid to blink, afraid to miss something important. My lower lip trembled and I tucked it between my teeth, waiting. After a moment, Salem's eyes opened, a hazy, confused,  _stunning_ blue. 

     "Welcome back, my love." I whispered, smiling so wide I felt my face my split in two. 

     Salem's eyes darted around, almost wild, almost feral. She absorbed our cramped surroundings, and a puzzle creased itself in her gaze. 

     "Where...am I?"

     "We are in Eamon's caravan wagon." I informed her, reaching for a waterskin and holding it to her pale, chapped lips. 

      _She looks like an invalid,_ I thought as she drank.  _Her cheeks are sunken, her skin waxy and wan...I have never seen her so dispirited and broken, not even after Wynne forced lightning in her chest to re-start her heart._

     "You fell unconscious after Wynne healed you." I told her what had happened. "We had no idea of knowing when you would wake, and time is precious. Eamon and Alistair, with many protestions from your brother, insisted that, were you conscious, you would order us to move forward. Alistair won the argument but..." my voice caught in my throat and I faltered as I saw the weariness in her gaze. "You have been catatonic for two days...Wynne thought if best to keep you that way, so that the magic could use your body's reserves to heal you. Your back is almost fully mended."

      _I was so very frightened, Salem. When Wynne healed you...you screamed until your throat began to bleed. Your heart almost stopped beating...for the second time. It broke my heart Salem. It truly broke my heart._

     "Wily...old bat." Salem rasped, speaking of Wynne. "But...good decision."

     "How are you feeling?" I dared to ask the most precious question I could. 

     I needed to know. I hated her pallor, the wide strips of bandaging that kept her injured right arm close against her chest. I loathed the dark circles beneath her eyes; they looked like Salem had run her fingers through the soot in the hearth and brushed her fingers under her eyes. 

     "Weary." a one word answer and her eyes closed. 

      _Not simply in body,_ my thoughts spoke the words.  _But in all aspects of life._

     "I know, my warden." I stroked her hair away from her face. "I know."

     She turned her face from mine and my heart cracked. "I...I do not want to do this anymore."

      _None other can, my love._

     "It is nearly at an end." I tried to comfort my warden, but the words rang hollow and void in my ears. 

     "What end?" she asked, her voice darker than it had ever been, even during her blindness. "What end, Leliana? Everywhere I go, blood is shed. My life is painted in varying hues of crimson and I am its source. I...I never wanted that."

      _I know. I know your desires, for they match my own. Peace. Simplicity. Life. But there is no time for that now. Death must reign a little longer. All things fall to their season, my love._

     "Tell me what you do want." I smiled as her face turned to mine once more. "Tell me what desires linger in your heart."

      _Think of the future, my darling girl. Think of what awaits you at the end of this road. Think of the gifts you have been given; your brother's life, a good man on the throne of your beloved country...and my love, for what little it is worth._

     "I want to forget what pain is." Salem answered. "I tire of weakness and bandages and hovering companions. I am tired of seeing anguish stamped on your face, Leliana, and knowing that I am its source. I want skin made of metal and a heart of the same...I am tired of hurting."

     "Your heart is beautiful." I told her, lying down beside her, resting my head on her shoulder, basking in her presence. "It is kindness and warmth and justice and fierce, fierce love. Please, for my sake, leave it unchanged."

     Her body shuddered in my embrace and I knew, without looking, that tears were burning across her cheeks. 

     "It  _hurts,_ Leliana." she wept. "Everything  _fucking **hurts.**_ And it does not  _cease._ I have fought so hard, for so long...and it seems to crumble away at every turn. How do I even know that when the archdemon arrives, those who we have persuaded and bled for will actually aid our cause?"

     "Your faith is strong, Salem." I encouraged her. "It has brought us so far. You have led us through the impossible; you have even defied death. You can keep hold of that faith, that strength, a little longer."

     "I  _can't_." she crumbled, clutching my hand in hers. "Leliana, I  _ **can't.**_ " **  
**

_No, Salem, no!_  My heart shrieked.  _You have just now come back to me; please do not close away your heart. Dear Maker...I need you so much, **love** you so much...is it...is it possible that you need me, in this moment, even more?_ 

     "Then I will keep faith for you." I promised, reaching up and wiping away her tears. "I have walked through hell at your side, Salem, and I will continue to do so."

     "Why?" she sounded so lost. "Why? I could  _die_ , Leli. Why would you stand beside me, knowing that, knowing how easily my skin is torn, knowing that the Maker's gift of healing magic is a curse to me? You know my every weakness..."

     "And I know your every strength." I interrupted her. "And if..." I choked over the words, the thoughts, "...if you die, my warden, I will be there, holding you as I am now, keeping your faith alive."

     She rolled over in a rush of movement, pulling her arm free of its sling and wrapping it around me, ignoring her pain, pulling me against her. Her lips blazed against mine in a furious, frustrated kiss. 

     "I...do not...deserve you." she breathed. 

     We lay there, still, together, forehead to forehead, my fingers stroking through her tangled hair. Her eyes were closed, the remnants of tears still clinging to her lashes. She appeared fragile, beautiful, and somehow younger than she was. 

     "You have taught me one thing above all, my love." I told her, knowing, feeling that, somehow, everything would resolve itself. 

     "What is that?" the song of defeat still layered her voice, but there would be time to remedy that. 

     "That love is given, not deserved." I smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. "With Marjolaine, every affection was earned, every approval was paid for with blood. It is not so, and never has been, with you."

     Salem laughed, dark. "However, I am certain that she never fell apart before you. Never let you see her tears. Never mocked the very state of her existence."

     "True." I agreed. "But that is one of the rare perks of being an emotionless bitch."

     Salem laughed and at last it seemed a pure, true sound of mirth. "Would you prefer I adhere to her example?"

     "No, my warden." I fitted my body to her own. "I love you as you are, for who you are. Even if you must occasionally collapse in my arms. They will always be open, waiting...only for you."

     She attempted to smile and kissed me, too heartsick for heavier words. I understood, trying to give her what peace I was able. Soon, I knew, all the denizens of the abyss would be set against us again. Blades and bows would be raised, prayers sent out, blows taken...lives lost. 

_Until then, I have you for my own. And I will cherish that time, Salem. For I will keep you grounded her on this earth. **No one** will take you from me but the hand that crafted this world. I love you, my warden. I love you. So rest, while you are able. Surrender your burdens for the moments you can.  **  
**_

     "Leliana," Salem whispered, eyes closed, body beginning to relax, "I am sorry."

     "For what, love?" I asked. 

     She kissed me again, gentle, tneder, lingering. "Well...I did promise you a hot bath."

     "That you did." I took a playful, chastising tone. "But I will take the ability to ride to Redcliffe in a wagon as a reward of consolation."

     "Present company excused?" Salem sighed, asking a layered, dangerous question. 

      _Stop apologizing to me, my love. It is unnecessary._

"Present company included."


End file.
